


Adonis Makes It Look Easy

by MyNameIsThunder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, College, First Time, Gay Draco Malfoy, Greek myth - Freeform, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Libraries, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Hogwarts, Swearing, slowburn? i don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyNameIsThunder/pseuds/MyNameIsThunder
Summary: When Harry Potter irrevocably dragged Draco Malfoy into his life, it was without a warning, and he called him by the wrong name the entire time. To be fair, Draco only realised it was Harry Potter at the same time that Potter realised he wasn’t ‘Liam’, so those two things kind of cancelled each other out. All you had to do was squint.In hindsight, those weren’t the best conditions. Not that the conditions were really important, because Draco got pulled in no matter which way you wanted to look at it. And here is how it happened.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 59
Kudos: 268





	Adonis Makes It Look Easy

**Author's Note:**

> If you ask yourself: “How did we end up here?”, I’ll tell you exactly how it happened:
> 
> \- Play 130 hours of Assassins’ Creed Odyssey and drool over your character (I’m playing Kassandra, but that doesn’t matter)
> 
> \- Read Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller
> 
> \- Hear that Percy Jackson is getting a series
> 
> \- Know that Harry’s grandma was named Euphemia and therefore 100 percent Greek (rough estimate)
> 
> Et voilà. 🤗 Here we are.
> 
> Fair warning, though: Do not read if you don’t want to get spoiled for Song of Achilles! This fic doesn’t really reference it, but you will get spoiled for some Greek myth and that’s basically the same thing. 😉
> 
> This fic is dedicated to all the lovely people who supported me throughout the run of my longfic [Where The Falcons Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129308/chapters/55345891). 🤗

Up until 9:17 pm on Friday night, Draco’s day had been largely uneventful. He had attended his lectures, he had gone grocery shopping, and then he had even brought himself to go for a jog, despite the constant downpour.

It was part of his New Year’s resolution – Now that November was right around the corner, he felt quite strongly like maybe the time had come to finally get started on what he had been meaning to do all year long (honestly).

The resolution was this: Regular exercise, focus on college, and keep out of trouble. Well, the third part was about to get royally fucked, but that was hardly Draco’s fault, was it? He was only focusing on the first part right now, and that was already miserable enough.

Draco was out of breath after the first block of his jog. Also, he was cold despite his warming charm, and he was wet – so very, very wet. His jacket was drenched. His trackies were soaked. His feet were dry, but only because Muggles wouldn’t notice a repelling charm on them.

Draco wanted very much to just stop running, turn around and go home. To take a very hot shower, bundle up under a heap of warming charms and eat pizza. With pie for dessert, if at all possible.

What Draco didn’t want to do was _run harder_. But that was what he got.

He had just passed one of those massive tenant buildings, debating whether three minutes were enough exercise for one day (he was just getting started on his resolutions after all, and there were still a couple of months left before next New Year’s), when –

“GO, GO, GO! LIAM, _GO!_ ”

Draco didn’t even have time to turn around and look for the absolute maniac who thought he had to wake the whole neighbourhood, before that somebody grabbed his upper arm from behind and _pulled_ – and Merlin, did he ever!

Draco picked up the pace automatically – because the alternatives were to either have his arm ripped out of its socket or do an epic faceplant, and he wasn’t partial to either – and stumbled along after the stranger. Who was _fast_.

Had Draco had any breath left, he would have asked something along the lines of: _‘Who the fuck do you think you are, why the fuck are you running and what the fuck do I have to do with this?’._

As it was, he barely had enough energy to not stumble over his own feet and to get a fleeting look at his abductor’s back (who was wearing a red hoody and a bright yellow backpack), before there were several shouts from behind.

Red glanced over his shoulder – not the one on Draco’s side, so he still couldn’t see his face – and then sped up even more, which Draco wouldn’t have thought possible, but there it was.

Draco wheezed something out that sounded vaguely like “ _Who –?_ ” and then made the mistake of looking himself. They were being chased by three or four boys. Athletic, tall boys. Maybe men. Probably men.

Merlin, they were about to get absolutely whooped.

Draco had never experienced a runner’s high, but it turned out that fear was an even bigger motivator. The stitches in his sides, the soaked clothes clinging to his body, everything was forgotten – Draco pulled his arm from Red’s grip and just ran.

If getting free had seemed like a good idea a second ago, when his feet had barely managed to keep up with the person dragging him along, it seemed absolutely stupid a moment later, when Red took a sharp left and Draco kept on running straight ahead.

“ _BLOODY HELL,_ _LIAM!_ ”

Draco barely had a second to realise he had fucked up before Red was at his side again, grabbing his arm even more firmly this time and pulling him into the next side alley they encountered – which was a dead end.

Draco stared at the wall numbly, heart hammering in his chest, as Red turned around, still holding on to him, and hesitated for a second, probably calculating if there was enough time to go back.

There were several shouts, horribly near, and Red’s hand clenched around Draco’s arm for a second before he let go, muttering, “ _Fuckfuckfuck_ – alright, don’t worry. I got this.”

And then he strode over to the nearest back door, fumbled with the lock for a second, muttering something else under his breath, and then, finally, unlocked the door with a triumphant noise.

Draco didn’t wait for an invitation. He rushed over, pushed Red into the building and followed, pulling the door shut behind himself immediately.

Two things registered for Draco before it happened. One: It was completely dark inside. And two: it was weirdly damp and cold.

As for what happened: Draco took a long, shuddering breath that set his lungs on fire, and the guy grabbed him again, both upper arms this time. Then Draco’s back was pressed against the door and Red was pressed against _him,_ whole body at once.

Not a second later, he was on him, kissing him full on the mouth, eager and hot, and Draco couldn’t do anything but respond in kind, hands at Red’s waist. He was as hot as Draco was cold, the heat from his body warming Draco’s numb fingers instantly. Now that Draco thought about it – and he didn’t, really, this was just too good – he felt hot all over, everywhere their bodies were pressed against each other and even down to his toes.

And yes, alright, Draco definitely liked _this_. No doubt about it. Merlin, this was definitely worth the run, and Draco didn’t even care that Red thought he was somebody named Liam. This was the least he could do after abducting Draco.

Draco made a noise – something between a moan and a sigh – and Red pulled away, leaning his forehead against Draco’s shoulder – he seemed to be slightly shorter than him – and shushing him silently.

They stayed like that for a minute, just listening as the angry voices grew closer and closer, and Draco let his wand drop into his hand as silently as he could, concentrating on the door and thinking, _‘Colloportus’_. 

He still jumped when somebody tried to open the door a few seconds later, and he could feel Red’s sharp intake of breath against his throat, his body tensing where they were still touching.

It took another minute, and then the voices were gone.

Red made a noise then, and it sounded like a mixture of breathing out heavily and laughing. One of his hands slid down until it reached Draco’s waist. The other travelled across his chest, coming to rest just above Draco’s heart.

Red leaned in again, hot body pressing Draco harder against the door, hot breath ghosting at Draco’s lips –

“What the _fuck_ was all that about?” whispered Draco. 

Strong hands, eager lips, hot body, all of it was gone in a second. There was a beat of silence, a sharp intake of breath, then –

“ _Malfoy?_ ”

And Draco would have known that voice anywhere, saying his name like _that_.

Another second of silence and then two wands lit up at once, casting the room into golden light.

Draco didn’t even know where to start his meltdown.

Getting dragged along the streets of London by Harry Potter? Getting thoroughly snogged by Harry bloody Potter? Kissing Harry bloody fucking Potter back just as enthusiastically?

There were just a lot of options and so little mental capacity to work through it all. Maybe Draco would have a meltdown over his inability to focus his meltdown, instead.

It was pointless, but Draco couldn’t help himself. He stretched out a hand – Potter didn’t even flinch – and pushed the hood off his head. And there it was: Humankind’s most preposterous mob of hair, only that it had gotten even worse since Draco had seen it last at the second Hogwarts’ Anniversary three years ago. It was fairly short at the sides, but there was a whole lot of curly action happening on top. The scar was only visible where it crossed his right eyebrow, almost white against his tan skin.

Potter opened his mouth, but Draco never got to know what he was about to say. There were sudden footsteps and then the clanking of keys at the other end of the room, which seemed to be some kind of storage. Draco extinguished his wand, and then Potter grabbed his shoulder again and Disapparated without so much as a warning.

Something hit Draco in the back of his knees and there was a second during which Potter was the only thing keeping him upright. Then Potter grinned and let go, and Draco fell flat on his back with an “ _Oomph”_.

His heart was still hammering from the sudden shock of falling when he realised that he was lying on a bed, and then someone called, “Harry?” and Potter flinched and put a finger to his lips.

“Harry, is that you? I thought you weren’t back yet.” The voice was coming steadily nearer. All Potter could do was grimace, and then the girl was in the room.

Draco supposed that she was beautiful, although it took a whole lot of concentration to really look at her. She had a giant afro, for one, but then there were also her clothes – a sweeping, floor-length skirt the same yellow colour as Potter’s backpack, and a patterned, orange shirt, also: bracelets, earrings, and several necklaces.

“Oh,” she said, blinking down at Draco two times. “There’s a wet boy in your bed.”

“He’s not _in_ my bed,” said Potter, rolling his eyes. “He’s _on_ my bed. There’s a difference.”

“Sure, sure,” she said, scrutinising Draco from head to toe. “What’s wet-boy’s name?”

“Er,” said Potter, eyes flicking to Draco too.

It was so entertaining watching her lay into Potter that Draco just pushed himself up on his elbows and contented himself with watching it all unfold and soaking Potter’s bedclothes in the process.

The girl was looking at Potter now, arms crossed and a stern look on her face. “Harry Potter, you did _not_ pick up a boy without asking his name first!”

Potter fished a mobile phone out of his pocket and started typing something, which was a very good excuse not to look at either of them. “I know his name, _jeez_!”

She looked from Harry to Draco and back. “Oh, so you _did_ pick him up?”

“I –”

They all flinched when there was a _BANG_ somewhere down the corridor, and then, by the sound of it, somebody came rushing into the flat.

“ _ABBY_?! Abs, we did something dumb and I lost – !” The boy stopped yelling, interrupted by a chime in the hallway. “Never mind!”

Abby managed to cross her arms even harder and Potter grimaced again, stuffing his mobile back into his pocket.

A second later, the boy was there, tall and blond, and then he threw his arms around Potter and picked him up, turning once around his own axis while shouting, “We did it!”

Potter groaned, and pressed out, “Liam, you’re crushing me!”

“Hey, is that my backpack?” said Abby suddenly. And before either of them could answer, she rushed forward and threw her arms around both of them, trapping Potter and the backpack in the middle. “Oh, you _didn’t_!”

Potter whimpered and she stepped back immediately, and then his … _boyfriend (?)_ let go of him too and Potter landed back on his feet with an “ _Oomph_ ”.

Potter handed Abby the backpack, who answered with some kind of squeal and then dropped to her knees immediately to rummage through it while Liam watched her.

Potter turned to face Liam. “So, where the hell did you go?”

Liam held up both hands in defence. “I was just around the corner, I swear. I went to check that Jonah wasn’t coming back early. It only took a second and then I heard the yelling and you were gone.”

“Yelling?” Abby looked up sharply. “Did you get caught?”

“Nah,” said Potter with a grin. “Some of his flat mates saw me on my way out, but I don’t think they recognised me.”

Draco thought that ‘saw’ was an understatement, given that they had gotten very close to being slaughtered in the streets, but he couldn’t bring himself to reveal that fact to Abby, who seemed like a rather nice girl, who would be distressed about learning that fact.

“Wait a second,” said Draco instead, giving Potter a quizzical look. “Did I understand that right? You broke into someone’s house wearing a bright red hoody?”

Liam noticed Draco then, and he looked him up and down very slowly, which made Draco instantly aware that his trackies were practically clinging to his legs. He sat up carefully, because lying there like that, he felt like some kind of zoo animal.

“It was a spontaneous thing. It’s not like I carry stealth wear with me at all times.” Potter glared at him, as Abby eyed his hoody like she was seeing it for the first time.

Draco raised an eyebrow and Potter glared at him even harder, daring him to contradict him on that. Draco wasn’t that stupid. His friends were obviously Muggles.

Liam was looking at Draco again. “H, do you know there’s a twink in your bed?”

“He’s not _in_ –” Potter sighed heavily, like he gave up, and then said, “Could you stop being gay for _one_ second?”

“I would, but it’s kind of hard when you bring home boys who look like that.”

Then Draco asked, “What’s a twink?” and Liam’s eyebrows shot up.

Potter sighed heavily as Liam turned to look at him after all. “Fresh meat?”

Potter shook his head, a weary expression in his face. “I’m sure he knows what’s up.”

“Then why did he ask –”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I mean I’m sure Draco knows what he’s doing, even if he doesn’t know the lingo.”

“Draco?” said Liam, and the way he grinned at Draco was a little unsettling. “ _Fun_.”

“God, you’re the worst,” muttered Potter, and then he went over to his closet and pulled some things out at random, handing them over to Liam. “There, now get out. I _really_ want to get out of these clothes and Draco looks like he’s _this_ close to hypothermia.”

And now that he had said it, Draco was _freezing_. His wet clothes were plastered to his body, his hair was dripping, even the repelling charm on his shoes seemed to be failing.

“I’ll make tea,” said Abby at once, and then she picked up her backpack and dragged Liam out of the room by his hand.

Potter closed the door and took a second to just lean his forehead against it, back turned on Draco. Then he breathed out heavily, straightened and just pulled the wet hoody over his head, revealing – the t-shirt underneath. No, Draco was not disappointed.

“So,” said Draco finally, and then he startled and paused when Potter came over and dropped down on the bed right beside Draco, knocking shoulders in the process.

“So,” said Draco again, staring at the ceiling and ignoring that Potter was very obviously looking at him. Draco could feel his warm breath ebbing against his cheek. “Thanks for the existential fear and excruciating exercise, Potter. If you could just show me to the front door, then.”

Potter just snorted and bumped shoulders again. “Abby would have my head if I sent you out while it’s pelting like that.”

“I wouldn’t _walk_ home,” said Draco pointedly.

Potter snorted again. “Sure, just tell her that you will teleport yourself home, I’m sure she’ll let you go then.”

Potter took a very deep breath and then got back to his feet. “Come on, I’ll give you something dry to wear and then we’ll have tea.”

Draco just watched as Potter pulled more clothes from his closet and threw them at Draco’s chest. Then he shook his head when Potter asked, “Do you want to shower?” and dried himself off with a spell instead.

“Right,” said Potter, bundling up a stack of clothes for himself. “Okay, so just come find us in the kitchen when you’ve changed. It’s to the right of my room, you really can’t miss it.”

And then Potter was gone too, and Draco was alone in his room, unsure where to look first. It was a mess, if Draco was totally honest. He undressed slowly, trying to take in as much as he could.

Clothes were lying around everywhere. There were no less than three open books spread out on the desk, which was barely visible underneath all the crumbled-up paper, pens and Muggle magazines. There also was a whole pile of books stacked on top of each other at the foot of his bed, and Draco doubted for a few seconds that it really _was_ Potter’s room, but then he spotted a series of photographs on the wall behind him, and those were definitely some of Potter’s Hogwarts friends.

The kitchen was indeed easy to find. It was just down the corridor, and there were voices drifting out, luring him in. Potter and his friends were squeezed around a tiny table, but Potter got up when Draco entered and then heaved himself up onto the kitchen counter so Draco could take his chair.

Draco’s mind was reeling with how bizarre all of it was. He was a wizard. He had gone through a whole war. And somehow, _this_ still managed to be the strangest situation he had ever found himself in.

He was wearing Harry Potter’s clothes, as was Potter’s _boyfriend_ – Potter was apparently gay? Draco was sitting in a tiny Muggle kitchen with said boyfriend, who probably had no idea that Potter and Draco had snogged some fifteen minutes earlier – after he had basically helped him steal a backpack from a herd of very angry men.

Then again, it _was_ Potter, so Draco supposed it made some kind of sense. Nothing to do with him had ever been remotely normal.

“So, Damien,” said Abby as she handed him his tea with a smile.

“Thank you,” said Draco. “And it’s Draco.”

“Is it really?” Abby certainly seemed surprised.

“See!” said Potter, pointing a finger. “I told you I didn’t make it up. And I’m a little hurt that you think I would just pick up random boys without asking their names first.”

“What about that one guy with the undercut?” said Liam, grinning at him wickedly. “The muscly one?”

“He doesn’t count,” muttered Potter into his tea. “That was a misunderstanding.”

Abby cocked her head in Potter’s direction. “Undercut? Why don’t I know about Undercut?”

Potter shook his head gravely. “Because we’re operating on a need-to-know basis, that’s why.”

“Well,” said Draco, blowing on his tea for the dramatic effect. “I, for one, feel like I definitely need to know this story.”

Potter scoffed and then rolled his eyes at Draco too. “You’re the _last_ person who needs to know about that.”

“I earned that story,” said Draco slowly. “Spill.”

Potter gave him a dark look and then kicked his tea back like it was a shot.

“ _Fine_. But before you judge me,” Potter held up a finger, “let me just say that I am very bad at recognising faces. Once I stared at Hermione for ten minutes and at the end of it, I wasn’t even sure what she looked like anymore.”

Draco couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Is that why you abducted me earlier?”

“Yes, fine, I thought you were Liam,” muttered Potter. “To be fair, I only saw you from behind, and also, I was running.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Liam, winking at Draco, who managed nothing more than to stare back at him, completely startled.

“Wait, you were running?” said Abby suddenly, putting down her tea. “Why were you running? You said they _saw_ you on the way out.”

“They were after him,” said Liam gleefully. “I heard them yelling. Boy, they were mad.”

Abby punched Liam’s shoulder. “You’re in trouble too, you idiot. You only got spared by pure luck. Or incompetence, knowing you.” 

“Maybe we could just focus on the important thing?” said Potter with a grin. “Like how you don’t have to write your paper a second time. You’re welcome.”

Abby rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, but then she rubbed Liam’s arm where she had hit him, and smiled at both the boys in turn. “Alright … thank you. But _don’t_ do it again,” she added sternly.

“Well, as heart-warming as that was,” said Draco. “I feel like we should return to the real issue. Undercut?”

He took a sip of his tea and looked up at Potter expectantly, who narrowed his eyes at him, which Draco answered with an innocent shrug.

“You’re worse than Lavender and Parvati combined.”

Draco tried to pull his sweater sleeves down to meet his wrists, but fact was that they were far too short on him. “I _did_ grow up with Pansy.”

“Wait a second,” said Abby, looking between the two of them. “You already know each other, is that right?”

“We went to school together,” said Draco lightly.

Liam’s head whipped around to face first Draco and then Potter, and he looked simply delighted. “School? Don’t tell me –”

“Liam!” said Potter in a voice that was suddenly very tight.

“No way!” And then Liam went back to checking Draco out from head to toe, nodding along as he did. “You’re the –”

“Red!” Potter hissed, and Liam’s hesitated for only a second before changing course and saying, “So, Undercut,” instead of whatever he had wanted to say.

“Right,” muttered Potter, tucking at one of his damp curls. “So, as I said, I’m bad with faces. And there was this guy Jason in Ancient History and I _swear_ he was flirting with me. So, when I saw him at Sheila’s party, I just thought, why not?”

“This was Sheila’s costume party last Halloween, yes?” asked Abby.

“See,” said Potter, “You get it.”

“We’ll see,” she said, but she was grinning.

“So, I was a little drunk, it was fairly dark, Undercut was dressed like a pirate, complete with the hat and fake beard and scars, so not exactly ideal conditions to recognise anyone.”

Abby giggled and Potter gave her a stern look. Then he took a deep breath and soldiered on. “So, I went home with him, as you do –”

“As _you_ do, you mean,” said Abby.

Potter just gave her a look. “– and things got really awkward.”

“Before or after?” said Abby in between more giggling, and then Potter glared at her and mumbled, “Neither.”

And then all of them were laughing, even Liam, who had obviously already known the story and also was weirdly fine with hearing about his boyfriend’s escapades.

“But,” said Potter, gesturing at Draco with his spoon and trying his hardest not to smile himself. “Here’s the bright side: Turns out the real Jason has a girlfriend, so at least I didn’t embarrass myself in front of _him_. He’s in my Greek Myths course this year, that would’ve been awkward.”

“God,” muttered Abby. “Thanks for reminding me I have BioMech with Jonah tomorrow.”

“Abby just broke up with him,” said Potter helpfully. “He didn’t take it that well.”

Draco grimaced. He didn’t know the first thing about relationships, but he did know that that was an appropriate reaction to break-ups.

“Here’s a tip,” said Liam gravely. “Check to see that you haven’t got any important things still lying around his flat before you break up with someone. Like the only copy of a paper that took you three weeks to write.”

“Well, I didn’t think he’d hold it hostage,” said Abby. “That’s just borderline cruel.”

“Borderline?” said Draco. “I once managed to delete a fifteen-page essay. I won’t lie, I cried a little.”

Draco hadn’t trusted computers before and he certainly didn’t after that incident. Unfortunately, his professor still wouldn’t accept handwritten papers, no matter how much Draco argued.

Potter made a very curious little sound in the back of his throat and then quickly pretended to take a sip of his tea when all three of them looked at him. Draco knew he was only pretending, because his mug was obviously empty.

Liam cleared his throat loudly and Potter jumped to his feet immediately, declaring in a strange voice, “Well, it’s getting late and I have an early class tomorrow, so ...”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” said Abby.

“Study group.”

“People really do get weird with age,” muttered Liam, but he still stood up.

Draco finished his tea and then followed Liam into the hallway. Harry hugged Liam first and then, when he was gone, insisted on walking Draco to the next bus stop even though they both knew Draco wouldn’t actually use it.

“So … Sorry for dragging you into that mess,” Potter said a whole minute into their walk.

“Well, I was running anyway,” said Draco, wondering if now was the time when Potter would ask him not to tell his boyfriend about what had happened.

“I still would’ve felt awful if I’d gotten you beat up,” was what Potter said instead.

Then he took Draco’s arm – gently this time – and pulled him into a dark side alley. They stood facing each other for a moment, not actually seeing each other in the dark, and for one wild second, Draco was sure they were going to kiss again.

Then Potter cleared his throat and let go of his arms. “You can Apparate from here.”

“Alright,” said Draco, barely able to hear his own voice over the rush of his blood. “Well … thanks for the dry clothes, I guess.”

“Oh,” said Potter, like he only remembered then. “Yeah, right. Your clothes are still in my room. I’ll … dry them ... Wash them? And then we can exchange. When would be a good time for you? I think I could on Monday … No wait, that’s taken. Maybe … I’ll have to check my calendar, actually. Sorry …”

“Merlin, Potter. Stop rambling; it’s embarrassing. I’ll give you my number and then you can text me, how does that sound?”

No big deal, right? Muggles exchanged numbers all the time.

“Number …?” mumbled Potter weakly. “Like …?”

“You know, to reach my phone? I know you know, I saw you use a mobile.”

Potter was silent for once, and then his face was lit up by that harsh light all mobiles seemed to have. Draco took it from him – Potter’s grip was oddly slack – and typed in his number.

Potter laughed, and it sounded a little hysterical. “You have your number memorised?”

“Obviously,” said Draco, pressing the phone back into his hand. “I was told that’s very important if you want to pass for a Muggle.”

“Pass …” Potter trailed off. “I … I’m just gonna ring you so you have my number too. You know, because that’s what Muggles do.”

There was a frown on his face, Draco could only just see it in the dim light. Then Draco’s mobile rang in the pocket of his borrowed trackies and Potter actually flinched.

“You carry it with you?” The ringing stopped and then Potter stuffed his own phone back into his pocket.

“That’s what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Right …,” muttered Potter. “I’ll … text you then. About your clothes. Yeah. Alright, have a safe trip home.”

Draco scoffed lightly – because honestly, he was about to be home in about two seconds – and said, “You too, Potter”.

“Call –” began Potter, but then Draco was already gone.

~*~

Tessa didn’t waste any time to ask her question as soon as Draco sat down at their usual table. She never did. This time, she didn’t even look up from the menu.

“So, snogged any cute boys recently?”

“You know,” said Draco casually. “At one point, you will have to stop asking me that question. It doesn’t actually make me want throw myself at strangers.”

“Oh, it will,” muttered Marc glumly. “If only to stop her from asking. A word of advice: _don’t_. Because she won’t. If anything, she’ll be even worse.”

“Not true,” said Tessa. “If Draco finally manages to just snog some guy and then decides that it’s not for him, I could easily switch back to needling him about girls instead.”

Draco hesitated for a second and then decided, what the hell, Tessa always told them all about her dates, and anyway, he liked her. Also, sometimes it felt good just to say what was on his mind. Not every personal detail had to be guarded carefully.

“So, fun story –”

Tessa slapped her menu onto the table. “No way!” 

“Wait, what?” said Marc. “Seriously? Who? _When?_ ”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “Last night and you don’t know him.”

“Was he hot?” asked Tessa. “What’s his name?”

Draco hesitated. Of course Potter was hot – he had just the right amount of muscle, he always looked like he had just come from a month-long beach holiday and his eyes definitely were something else. His hair was totally stupid, sure, but Draco supposed that some people liked it enough. The question was: Was Draco ready to admit that Potter was hot?

“Not half bad,” was what Draco settled on. “And I’m definitely not telling you his name. You’re way too nosey.”

Marc raised an eyebrow at Draco. “But you _do_ know his name?”

Draco raised his eyebrow a tad bit higher than Marc. “Yes, of _course_ I know his name.”

“Did you get his number?” asked Tessa, and then, when Draco hesitated, she almost screamed, “You _did_!”

“I left some things at his flat,” said Draco defensively. Marc shook his head slightly and, quite honestly, judgingly. Draco took the menu from Tessa, even though he always got the same thing. “Not like that. Besides, he’s got a boyfriend, so there.”

“Oh, Draco,” muttered Marc heavily. “You can’t kiss boys who have boyfriends. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You think I _asked_ him before we kissed?”

“Well, maybe you should have!” said Marc sternly.

Draco waved a hand. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Both his friends sighed and then exchanged meaningful looks. Then Tessa said, “Now Draco’s got an Adonis, too,” and managed to make it sound bloody ominous.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “ _Adonis_?” 

“That’s the guy who broke Marc’s heart,” she said.

“That’s not –” muttered Marc, but Tessa cut right across him. “Marc actually hides when he sees him anywhere. It’s a real Greek tragedy.”

“Who the hell is _Adonis_?”

“Nobody,” muttered Marc at the same time as Tessa said, “Marc’s first boyfriend.”

“He was _not_ my boyfriend,” said Marc in a very scandalised tone. “ _Definitely_ not.”

“But he was your first,” said Tessa, topping it off with a very dirty giggle while Marc blushed to the roots of his dark hair and then grabbed the menu from Draco so he could vanish behind it.

“Where do you meet an _Adonis_?” asked Draco, because seriously, that was a very weird name for a Muggle. Even _he_ had never met anyone by that name.

“He’s one of the Ancients,” muttered Marc, concentrating very hard on his menu. “Can we talk about something else?”

Draco mentally added ‘Ancients’ to his list of Muggle things he’d have to look up later.

“They met in the library,” said Tessa cheerfully. “Marc dropped his book and Adonis picked it up for him. It was a real meet-cute. And then they got drunk at a party and shagged and it all went to shit. So now Marc can’t step foot in the library anymore. He makes me pick up all his books.”

“He’s there all the bloody time,” muttered Marc. “Any decent person would acknowledge that I’m definitely the victim here and let me have the library.”

“Yeah, he’s a dick,” said Tessa. “But _so_ hot.”

“Tessa!”

“Sorry,” she said, patting Marc’s shoulder while nodding at Draco and mouthing, _‘So. Hot.’_

“I kind of want to see him now,” said Draco. “What does he look like? For research.”

“Check the Maughan Library,” said Tessa. “Believe me, you’ll know it if he’s there. It’s impossible to miss him. And that’s public opinion.”

~*~

Adonis was evidently not in the library on Wednesday night, but Draco still did a double take when he swept the study space with his eyes. Because Potter was there. What was more: he was alone at a table meant for six. Draco didn’t know how he had managed it, because all the other seats were taken.

Draco took the chair directly across from Potter, trying for an easy smile. Potter didn’t even look up from his book.

“Potter,” muttered Draco casually as he fanned out his study notes.

No reaction. Draco wasn’t even sure that he had been noticed – Potter seemed completely lost in his book. His eyes were racing across the page and there was a frown on his face.

Draco just shrugged to himself and went to find the book he needed. When he came back, Potter was muttering to himself, elbows on the table and forehead propped up with both hands. Somebody shushed him, but Potter didn’t react to them either.

Draco had barely opened his book, when Potter started shaking his head in a distracted manner. His muttering was louder now, and Draco could understand bits, like “ _Oh, boy_ ” and “ _Nonono_.”

“Shhh!” made a girl one table over, giving Potter the evil eye, which he ignored as well.

The boy next to her gave Draco a pitying look and unearthed a pair of headphones from his pocket, which the girl acknowledged with an envious look.

“Damn,” muttered Potter, even louder now, and then he slammed his palm against the book so hard that he completely drowned out the shushing of several people.

Potter jumped to his feet and stomped over to a bookshelf, fingers racing across the spines and finally resting on a particularly large book, which seemed to be a dictionary. Draco flinched when Potter dropped it onto the table and then began leafing through it at breakneck speed. He only sat back down when he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

That was when he finally noticed Draco, and he announced it by breathing in noisily and slamming a hand against his chest. This time, he grimaced when the girl shushed him again.

 _‘Bad day?’_ Draco scribbled on his notebook, pushing it over to him.

Potter grimaced again and then wrote back, _‘Having a hard time dealing with Patroclus’ death right now.’_

Draco hesitated. That definitely sounded like a Pure-Blood, but Draco couldn’t recall anyone of that name.

_‘I’m sorry to hear that. Was he a friend of yours?’_

Potter’s eyebrows shot up and then he actually snorted. The shushing girl breathed out heavily and began gathering up her things. Potter picked up his book and held it up so Draco could read the title (‘The Iliad’). So probably not a real person then. Somehow Draco hadn’t thought that Potter would be the type of person to get so worked up over a fictional character’s death. Then again, he wasn’t even sure if he actually still knew Potter.

Potter leaned over Draco’s notebook, but instead of writing something, he turned back a page and read his notes on British Colonialism. Then he looked at Draco from underneath his lashes and whispered, “You study _History?”_

The girl cleared her throat loudly as she passed behind Draco, and Potter gave her a very apologetic smile and then ducked his head low over his book.

Draco took his notebook back and watched as a very athletic, dark-haired guy speed-walked to the now vacant spot. There were still four free chairs at Potter’s table, but by now, Draco thought he knew why that was.

Maybe that new guy was Marc’s Adonis? He was definitely hot – Draco just wasn’t sure if he was you’ll-know-it-when-you-see-him hot.

But Tessa had said that his hotness was public knowledge. And Potter seemed to be at the library often enough that people knew to avoid his table, so surely he must have known who Adonis was?

 _‘Do you know a student named Adonis?’_ Draco slid his notebook over to Potter and then kicked his shin lightly when he didn’t notice it at first.

Potter kicked back and then frowned down at Draco’s notebook. Then he underlined _‘Adonis’_ two times and added two question marks to Draco’s.

 _‘Weird name, I know,’_ wrote Draco. _‘My friends say he’s an Ancient (?). Whatever that is.’_

Potter snorted and Maybe-Adonis placed his elbow on the table and then leaned his face against his palm so that his ear was covered.

_‘Ancients are what they call people from my department – Greek and Latin Classics.’_

Well, that explained why Draco’s internet search hadn’t yielded any plausible results. And if Potter was in the same department, it wasn’t that unlikely that he knew Adonis, right?

Draco added a _‘So’_ in front of his previous _‘Do you know a student named Adonis???’_ and then drew an arrow next to the question.

Potter shook his head and scribbled, _‘Adonis is a hot boy from Greek myth, so probably not his real name. Who is he?’_

_‘The guy who shagged my friend Marc and then dropped him like hot Cauldron Cake, apparently. My other friend Tessa says he’s supposedly so hot that you recognise him instantly.’_

Potter snorted again and then took stock of the study space. Several people glared at him, which seemed to actually confuse him. Draco nodded his head in Maybe-Adonis’ direction and Harry scrutinised him and then shrugged.

_‘Don’t know him, but he could be in another year than me.’_

_‘Is he Adonis material?’_

Harry’s eyes flickered up to Draco’s and then back to Maybe-Adonis. Then he scribbled, _‘Could be that girls like his type better? If your girl friend gave him that name?’_

Now it was Draco’s turn to shrug. _‘She seemed pretty sure I’d know him.’_

Potter gave Draco a daring grin that seemed to root him to his spot and made his heart race faster. This was what Draco imagined Potter had looked like the moment before he had kissed Draco in the dark. Merlin, was it getting hotter in here?

 _‘Want me to find out if he’s an Ancient?’_ Potter’s grin widened at Draco’s confused look, and then he actually winked at him – Draco’s heart missed several beats – and got to his feet without waiting for an answer.

Draco watched as Potter went over to Maybe-Adonis and touched his shoulder lightly, pointing at the book in front of him and saying something Draco couldn’t understand. Maybe-Adonis looked Potter up and down and then nodded, looking oddly pleased. Definitely seemed interested in boys, so that was a point on the pro-Adonis list.

Then Headphone Guy sighed loudly, grabbed his stuff and left abruptly, and Potter sat down in the now vacant chair next to Maybe-Adonis, who slid his book over so Potter could have a look at it. The remaining three people at their table exchanged looks and then gathered up their things as well.

Draco flinched massively when somebody dropped down next him. It was Tessa, and she was grinning at him. Draco raised an eyebrow at her.

She leaned in so she could whisper into his ear, “See? Told you you’d know Adonis when you see him.”

Draco flipped a page in his notebook and scribbled, _‘Honestly? I don’t see what the big deal is. He looks alright?’_

Tessa took his pen and scribbled, _‘Get your eyes checked. He’s basically a Greek god.’_ She paused a second to watch Adonis and Potter and then added, _‘Looks like he’s got a new target. Poor thing. Maybe we should warn him.’_

Draco shook his head and stole his pen back. _‘That’s my friend. He went over to confirm it’s Adonis.’_

Tessa elbowed him in the side, snatched away the pen and then scribbled furiously, _‘You hesitated before you wrote ‘friend’!! What’s that about?!’_

Draco rolled his eyes at her, which was apparently the wrong thing to do, because she actually gasped and poked a hole into his paper before managing to write, _‘That’s the guy?!! From last week?! Your first gay kiss?!?!’_

Draco tried to take the pen from her, and she swiftly slid onto the empty chair to her right, dragging his notebook with her.

When Draco got it back, it said, _‘Don’t even! I already know it’s true!!! Not exactly Adonis, but not bad!’_

Draco gave her a look that hopefully conveyed that he thought _she_ should get her eyes checked, if she really thought ‘Adonis’ was hotter than Potter. A Greek god? Draco actually thought he looked a little sickly, definitely too pale next to Potter, who was _actually_ quarter Greek. And Draco couldn’t even tell Adonis’ eye colour at that distance, but he was sure it wasn’t that exciting. (Also, you could tell the colour of Potter’s eyes from a mile away, so there.) Sure, he was more muscular, but Draco preferred his men on the lean side, actually, now that he actually knew he preferred _men_ , full stop. 

Potter laughed at something (at least he was _trying_ to do it quietly for once), and Adonis put a hand on his lower arm (presumably to shut him up) when people at surrounding tables gave them dirty looks.

 _‘Ugh, I’m going to be sick,’_ wrote Tessa, already halfway out of her chair. _‘Gotta tell Marc about this. See you Friday.’_

Potter stood up and came back to their table a moment later. Draco raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t sit back down but began gathering up his things instead. Potter grinned at him, leaned over the table and wrote, _‘Getting coffee with Adonis. Call you later.’_

Draco stared down at his notebook. Something was happening to his stomach, and he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Well, Tessa and Marc seemed to hate Adonis, so it was probably concern, right? Potter seemed to be alright, as far as personalities went, and Draco didn’t want him to get hurt. Not that it was an option. There still was his boyfriend, after all. Potter just took his spying very seriously.

 _‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’_ Draco scribbled back.

Potter winked at him. It did nothing to make Draco’s stomach feel better.

~*~

Potter never called and Draco didn’t stay up waiting for it, because that would have been weird. If he didn’t manage to fall asleep until two hours past his bed time, well then that had nothing to do with Potter. That was just insomnia.

Potter sent a text instead, but not before nine on Thursday morning. Draco noticed it immediately, but not because he had been checking his mobile every ten minutes. That would have been pathetic and also _confusing_ , because Potter was just some guy to him.

Sure, Draco had spent some sleepless nights fantasising about him during fifth year … Okay, some more during sixth and, _alright_ , a slightly above average number of nights after the war, but still. That had just been because Draco had _eyes_ and because Potter had always confused him.

If Potter had coffee with apparently-hot guys who weren’t his boyfriend, then that wasn’t his problem but Liam’s.

Draco blamed that kiss, really. His first gay kiss, after all, the one that had ended his uncertainty about whether or not he was actually gay (very much, apparently), and also a very hot kiss, as far as Draco could tell. Also, Potter’s body had felt nice, pressed up against him in the dark. It was normal that Draco thought back to that during certain _moments_.

Honestly, Potter wasn’t anybody special. Not here, in Draco’s new life. Here, Potter was just some guy who stole backpacks for his friends, studied some thing or other that would probably be of no real value on the job market, and annoyed people so much they steered clear of him. Just a fit guy with poor facial recognition skills. Just some guy Draco had kissed without it having to mean anything.

So, Potter texted, _‘Meet up outside library at 5?’_ and Draco waited the customary hour before replying, _‘I’ll bring your clothes. DM’_ and then started wondering if he should have texted, _‘Who is this?’_ first, so Potter wouldn’t know that Draco had saved his number as soon as he had gotten home that night.

Potter was ten minutes late and Draco wasn’t even surprised. It was just so in character for him, and Draco added it to the list. Because now it seemed that Draco was the type of person who had to keep a list of reasons why he wouldn’t want to date his childhood nemesis. Not that he had actually given that any real thought. It was just an in-case list he had started directly after answering the text. Just in case Draco ever took leave of his senses.

“Hey,” said Potter, as he strolled up to Draco like he was in no particular hurry. “I was thinking that maybe we could grab a bite? I’m starving.”

Draco shrugged, added _‘Unable to make proper plans beforehand’_ to the list and then fell into step as Potter led the way.

“So, how is Patroclus doing?”

Potter sighed heavily and pushed both hands into his pockets. “Still dead. Achilles too, now. Completely ruined my evening.”

Draco didn’t know what he was supposed to take away from that. Did that mean that Potter hadn’t spent the night with Adonis but his books instead? Or maybe – and Draco found that thought oddly revolting – they had spent the night reading _together_? They were both ‘Ancients’, after all.

He definitely wouldn’t ask. He added _‘Sentimental about potentially fictional people’_ to the list instead.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t all the people from Ancient Somewhere dead?”

“You don’t _get_ it.” Potter bumped shoulders. The list now contained a bullet point called _‘Assault’_.

“I’m not sure there is something to get.”

Instead of answering, Potter took his arm and directed him into a small pub. Draco added _‘Makes decision for others’_ and _‘Manhandling’_. He tried to ignore that he wasn’t actually that opposed to being manhandled and that you couldn’t really go wrong with pubs.

“Right,” said Potter when they were seated in a corner booth, and then he launched into a full retelling of a story called _The Iliad_ , only pausing briefly to order when the waitress came over.

Draco understood about a third, if that, and it was probably due in part to the rather casual way Potter told the story. Draco added _‘Shit at story-telling’_ and ignored that it was highly entertaining.

“So, Patroclus disguises himself as Achilles and gets killed. And all because Achilles is a sulky little bitch. So then Achilles goes all Hulk on Hector, who killed Patroclus, right? Like that does any good.”

“I’m confused,” said Draco finally, which was also the first sentence he had gotten in since Potter had started. “Patroclus is Achilles’ … brother in arms, basically? And what’s _Hulk_ , now?”

Potter scoffed. “I don’t know about brothers in arms. Achilles demands to be buried with Patroclus after his death, after all. And _buried_ is putting it lightly. How does getting your ashes mixed with one of your friends’ sound like?”

_‘Ignores half my questions.’_

Draco took a swig of his water to make sure his mouth was completely empty before saying, “That sounds slightly …”

Potter pointed at him with a chip, flinging some grease at Draco, who – you guessed it – made another mental note about table manners. “Exactly.”

Draco put his fork down carefully before asking, “So, were they?”

Potter licked some salt from the back of his hand (List! And _no_ , Draco certainly _wasn’t_ watching that!) and said, “Debateable.”

“But you think so?” Draco wiped his hands on his napkin, even though he hadn’t touched a single thing on his plate with them.

“Well, all I’m saying is that me and Ron won’t be going halfsies on an urn.”

They were silent for a minute, during which Potter finished his chips and Draco pretended to have a look around the pub, trying very hard not to ask.

Potter answered the question anyway. “Cedric, fourth year.”

“What?” said Draco in a voice that was a little too high. Potter didn’t want to talk about the dead now, did he? The pub was bound to close sooner or later.

“That’s when I first knew I was bi. That’s what you were going to ask, right?”

“Oh,” said Draco numbly, “I wasn’t actually going to. That would be rude.”

Potter just shrugged and balled his used napkin up so he could throw it into his empty basket. “So?”

Draco mentally added _‘Rude’_ and emptied his glass. “Fifth.”

“Which one?” asked Potter, and Draco wished he had some of his drink left after all, because Potter’s ( _greengreengreen)_ eyes were practically staring right through him.

He corrected his note into _‘Very rude’_ and then decided to just get it over with ... and also to pretend he had already known exactly which it was back then, because he certainly wouldn’t tell him that he had only really found out when Potter had kissed him in a damp, musty storage room.

“Women don’t really do it for me.”

“Well, for me it’s about thirty percent girls and seventy percent boys, I think.” Potter was grinning now. “And _who_ was it for you? Was it Zabini? Oh, was it _Nott_? I remember when he got that tattoo right before sixth year, Jesus!”

And great, now Draco had to deal with the mental image of a Potter-Blaise-Theo threesome. Draco scribbled _‘Bad taste in men’_ onto his rapidly growing list.

“You must be mad if you think I’d ever tell you something like that,” said Draco as casually as he could. He knew it sounded shifty, but the alternative was even worse.

Potter kicked his foot playfully. Another note. “Come on, I told you mine.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t have any self-preservation skills, Potter.” Not that Potter had to fear that _his_ object of adolescent desire would ever find out about his crush.

“Call me Harry,” said Potter, and Draco promptly choked on his own spit. Which was _‘Manslaughter’,_ basically _._

“No need to be so dramatic.” Potter laughed while he rapped Draco on the back (Draco checked the list, but _‘Assault’_ was already on there). “We snogged and you didn’t kill me afterwards, so I think we’ll be alright with first names, don’t you?”

“Speaking of names,” said Draco when he could finally breathe properly again. “What did you find out about Adonis?”

~*~

“So, my _friend_ ,” Draco put special emphasis on the word and Tessa raised her eyebrow at him, “had coffee with Adonis – whose real name’s Nick, by the way – and he apparently told him that he doesn’t know _anyone_ from our department, less alone a Marc.”

Marc laughed a little unnaturally while Tessa stabbed a fork at her cherry crumble.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” she said coldly. “He completely ignored Marc when they met in the library a few days after. That’s largely the reason why Marc doesn’t go there anymore.”

“ _No_ ,” said Marc suddenly, dropping his spoon into his cup and splashing tea all over the table. “I’ve decided that I’m over that. If Draco can snog some random not-half-bad guy, then I can stand up for myself.”

Tessa clapped her hands and dragged Marc into a weird side-hug that took place all over the table and nearly knocked over Draco’s cup. Draco rescued his mobile and leaned back to watch them.

“Does that mean we’ll do the toga party?!” she squealed, and then Marc finally managed to disentangle himself – he was fairly muscular, it really shouldn’t have taken him so long.

Marc breathed in heavily and then nodded slowly. “I guess …”

“Am I right in thinking that a Toga Party is a party where everybody wears a toga?” asked Draco. “Because if it’s _not_ , I have some questions.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” said Tessa. “Although you get a lecture on all kinds of clothing articles if you actually call it that name. The Ancients do it every January, in honour of some kind of booze god or what-have-you.”

“That sounds made up,” said Draco. Then again, so did everything Harry had told him about The Iliad. “Count me in.”

~*~

On a Saturday night in late November, Draco remembered why he usually didn’t bother with libraries. Some Muggles had no manners, no regard for personal space and obviously no need for basic hygiene. He didn’t even know why had decided to come here. (Honestly, he _didn’t_! It was _total_ coincidence that he had come across Harry six times already, and they’d only gone to the pub afterwards like twice!)

After trying to read the same paragraph on the Boston Tea Party for the third time and remembering absolutely nothing but the first four words _(‘The Boston Tea Party’)_ , Draco accepted his fate and fished his mobile out of his pocket to make Tessa suffer with him.

_‘Libraries are the worst. There is an ape sitting next to me and he reeks. Also, he tried to steal my best pen. Send the police.’_

Tessa’s reply was almost instantaneous but very unhelpful. _‘Poor thing ;) Brunch still on?’_

_‘Obviously, even if you are shit at moral support! For shame!’_

Draco put his phone away, because Tessa probably wouldn’t reply a second time. She was always going on about her mobile bill (and mocking Draco for his long texts).

A hot hand clamped down on Draco’s shoulder suddenly, and then Harry leaned over his shoulder and whispered, “It’s really weird seeing you use that thing.”

“ _Merlin –!_ ” Draco’s stomach did several somersaults, and only two of them because of shock.

“ _Ssssh!_ ” made several people at once.

Draco gave the girl directly across from him an apologetic smile. She just glared at him. Then she seemed to notice Harry standing behind him, because she sighed and began packing up.

“ _Nice_ ,” said Harry, and he promptly rounded the table and took her place, slapping his book open. Then he grinned at Draco and went on to find his page and start reading.

It only took about two minutes of Harry turning pages while muttering under his breath for the remaining occupants of their table to clear out, including the smelly kleptomaniac primate. As Draco took his first lungful of fresh air, he felt weirdly inclined to just lunge across the table and kiss Harry. Quite possibly, King Kong’s toxic odour had just addled his brain.

Draco actually got some reading done in the next fifteen minutes and, when he realised the fact, started wondering what everybody’s problem with Harry was. Sure, he was a bit noisy, and sometimes he made sudden movements like he had just thought of something and had to find another book to check immediately, but frankly, Crabbe and Goyle had been much worse. And they had tried to chat Draco up while he was working on a regular basis – so far, Harry hadn’t done that once.

Also, Harry actually smelled quite nice. And he was easy on the eyes.

Harry looked up suddenly and Draco realised he must have been staring at him. Harry grinned an enormous grin that reached his eyes (Merlin, when had he taken off his glasses?) and then turned his book so Draco could have a look at the illustration of some naked dead guy lying on a green sheet, with another man leaning over him, who was also naked with just a red sheet thrown over his lower body. There were some other people in the painting, but they hardly seemed relevant.

The annotation stated that it was a Russian painting called _‘Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus’_.

Harry leaned over to scribble something on Draco’s notebook. _‘Such good mates!’_

Draco snorted quite involuntarily and Harry managed to grin even more, though it shouldn’t have been possible. Grinning seemed to be his natural state nowadays, and it was weird to replace the mental image of Harry _glaring_ with this one (though strangely, Draco _did_ like it a lot better).

~*~

When Draco next saw Harry on a Thursday evening in December, he was asleep – which sounded like a good time, but actually wasn’t, because it took place in the library again.

Draco almost didn’t see him, because he was sitting at a crowded table, upper body slumped over his book, the hood of his red sweater pulled over his face, head resting on both arms.

There was an empty chair directly across from him, and Draco didn’t hesitate before taking it. Both girls on either side of him leaned in immediately, whispering, _“Bad idea”_ and _“Wouldn’t sit there”_. Draco just shrugged and got to work.

Five minutes later, Draco had to admit that he really didn’t like to sit there and ignoring their advice had been a bad idea indeed.

It happened without a warning (as everything concerning Harry seemed to do) – Harry’s hand twitched (his seat neighbours actually flinched) and Harry’s foot connected painfully with Draco’s shin, who couldn’t stop a groan from escaping.

Draco received equal parts pitying and reproachful looks. Harry didn’t even have the decency to wake up, and the other occupants looked like they would straight up murder Draco if he dared do it for him, so he just pushed his chair back as far as he could with his elbows still resting on the table, and resumed his reading.

The next time Harry’s hand twitched a good twenty minutes later, he managed to hit Draco on the nose. The shushing Draco received for his strangled yelp was entirely unfair and only made better in small parts by the sight of Harry blinking up at him with a soft, confused expression, looking like he had just stumbled out of bed.

There were tears in Draco’s eyes a second later, entirely involuntarily (you try to prevent it when you get hit on the nose), and then Harry was nothing more than a blurry shape.

“Shit, did I _hit_ you?!”

Warm hands grasped Draco’s wrists and pried them away from his face, and Draco freed himself and blindly gathered his things. There was some scurrying and then Harry was at his side, one hand firmly placed around his upper arm, guiding him … somewhere.

Draco took the opportunity to add _‘Dangerous bedmate’_ to the list, because _obviously_ he was still maintaining that.

They passed through a door and then Harry took Draco’s things from him and handed him a paper towel. Draco wiped away the tears (brawl tears, very manly), realised that they were in the toilet (Harry had placed their things on top of a blow drier) and then went on to examine his nose in the mirror.

It looked normal, but hurt like a bitch when Draco touched it carefully.

“I’m so sorry,” said Harry, staring at his profile. “Does it hurt much? Want me to Episkey it?”

“Are you any good at it?” asked Draco, still fixed on his reflection. “I don’t want to end up looking like Moody.”

Harry scoffed, said, “I was Gryffindor Captain in sixth year, you know?” (as if Draco ever would be able to forget) and then proceeded to grab Draco’s arm again and drag him into an empty stall before he could protest. “Maybe close your eyes, though.”

“ _What_?” said Draco, but then the wand was already in his face, and he screwed his eyes shut immediately.

The list contained _‘Ambusher’_ before the wordless spell even hit him, causing his nose to become first very hot and then very cold. Draco wiggled it experimentally and then touched it gently before opening his eyes again.

“Alright?” asked Harry.

He was entirely too near, his eyes so big and green, one hand still on Draco’s shoulder, the tips of their feet touching. Draco could feel Harry’s breath against his throat, felt the warmth radiating off his body, was acutely aware of the way the pale scar breached his right eyebrow, and the faint writing across his left cheek –

Wait, that was new.

Draco leaned away so his back hit the wall and then squinted until he could make out the words, mirror-inverted as they were. Harry’s cheek read, _‘the death and resurrection of Adonis, which’_. Harry cleared his throat and squeezed his shoulder.

“Fine,” said Draco, wrenching his eyes away before he could do something stupid. Like lean in again.

Instead, he unlocked the door and fled. There was a guy at the washbasin, and he made a decidedly judgemental face as they made eye contact in the mirror. Draco grabbed their things and trusted that Harry would follow.

“I _think_ that guy was in one of my courses last year …”

Harry was directly behind him as they exited the study space. He seemed slightly surprised when Draco turned to him and pushed his stuff into his arms as they reached the lockers.

“Oh, thanks!”

Harry continued following Draco down the aisle containing lockers 340 – 420 and leaned against the opposite row as Draco opened number 394 and began stuffing his things into his backpack.

“I was going to get pizza for Abby and me. Do you wanna come?”

Draco stilled and looked up at him from where he was kneeling. “Come … to your flat?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea.” Harry shrugged and dragged a hand through his hair. As if he hadn’t looked thoroughly shagged before. “Consider it compensation for getting punched in the nose.”

“You also kicked me in the shin,” said Draco, just for something to say while his mind raced (there were hurdles).

Harry grinned, which certainly wasn’t an appropriate reaction to assault. “In that case, I’ll even buy you some ice cream afterwards.”

“It’s December,” said Draco, watching as his mind tripped at the halfway mark and dragged three hurdles down with it.

But Harry just shook his head with another grin and leaned down to pick up Draco’s backpack. He had it shouldered before Draco could begin to process what had just happened, and then he had no choice but to get up and follow his homework out of the library.

“What about your bag?” asked Draco when he finally caught up. His backpack was still open _(‘No regard for other people’s belongings’)_ , so he zipped it shut.

Harry, who was still carrying his own things under one arm, grinned at him and then ducked into the nearest side alley. He plunged one hand into his pocket and then held it out, a tiny blue backpack sitting on his palm.

“Mind unshrinking that for me?”

“How is it that I’m doing this whole Muggle college experience better than you?” muttered Draco as he slapped his wand against Harry’s palm and watched the backpack grow.

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering too,” said Harry in a low voice that did horrible things to Draco’s insides. “What _are_ you doing here, studying History? _Muggle_ History.”

Draco looked up from Harry’s palm to his face, and then immediately focused all his attention on the ink across his cheek. Harry must have touched his face in the meantime, because the words were smudged, and only _‘resurrection’_ was somewhat legible now, although still inverted.

“McGonagall,” said Draco, trying not to notice the way Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m going to take the Transfiguration apprenticeship.”

There was confused silence. Then Harry started stuffing his things into the backpack. “Since when do you have to know Muggle history for that?”

Draco shrugged helplessly, wishing he could just take several steps back without it looking like a retreat.

“New rules. If you want to teach at Hogwarts, you’ve got to pass a test. Prove you know how to handle Muggle-borns. Well, I didn’t know the first thing about them, so I thought … what’s the easiest way to learn?”

“College?” Harry was grinning again, like this was the best joke he’d ever heard. “I’m dying to know how that’s going.”

Draco shrugged again and held out a hand for his own backpack. “It’s going alright, I guess. I just tell people I was raised in a cult. Most don’t ask follow-up questions. And if they do, I’m allowed to act all distressed.”

Harry actually laughed. He pushed Draco’s shoulder playfully and then slung his backpack over one shoulder, apparently unwilling to give up Draco’s. The list now read _‘Bull-headed moron’_ and Draco took a second to marvel at the fact that it had taken Harry that long to get there.

“Pizza’s this way,” said Harry, slipping out of the alley and back onto the street.

Draco sighed and followed after him, managing against all expectations to drag Harry’s backpack from his shoulder and put it on before he could do anything about it.

There they were – Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, and Harry bloody Potter, Saviour of Basically Everyone, carrying each other’s bags. Also, Draco had a tiny crush on Harry. And Harry had a boyfriend.

Merlin, he should have put that stupid list in writing. He couldn’t remember half the notes on it, and he could feel the rest of them vanish into oblivion when Harry looked at him over his shoulder and winked at him.

“Why Classics?” Draco said helplessly, hoping his face didn’t look as hot as it felt under the light of the streetlamps.

“I like reading,” said Harry, as if that was all the reason he had to have. “And myths.”

“You like reading,” repeated Draco.

“And myths.”

Draco just nodded along. “Yes, I heard … _Why?_ ”

Harry bumped shoulders. Again. Why did he always have to do that? It did nothing to ease the frantic beating of Draco’s heart.

“I like reading about other people’s drama for once. I read most of my History of Magic textbook before coming to Hogwarts.”

Draco laughed out loud and Harry turned his head to look at him, though Draco couldn’t make out his expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were secretly a Ravenclaw. Is that why the Hat took so long to sort you?”

“Noticed that, did you?” said Harry, sounding decidedly curious.

Draco scoffed and adjusted the distance between them just the tiniest bit, creating more space. “Everyone did. Daphne Greengrass kept going on about it. _‘Oh, wouldn’t it have been great if Harry Potter had been sorted with us?’_ Delusional, that girl.”

“Yeah … _pretty_ sure it wouldn’t have been great. For one, your common room is way too depressing. How did you get anything done down there? I need sunlight!”

“Library.” Draco stopped walking. “Wait, how do _you_ know that?”

But Harry just looked at him over his shoulder and clicked his tongue. Then he laughed, jerked his head at a building and promptly entered the pizza place.

For the next twenty minutes of waiting for their pizzas, Draco was desperately trying not to imagine Harry in the Slytherin dungeons. It was a lost cause – Draco was too acutely aware of how much friendlier the green light down there would have been on someone with matching eyes and a warmer skin tone.

What happened after that was just a lot of bad luck.

They left the restaurant to a slight flurry of snow. Harry handed Draco the pizza boxes so he could drag the hood over his head, and that was precisely the moment somebody yelled, “Fuck me sideways, that’s them!”

There were two of them and they were leaning against a wall just three buildings down the street. Both of them were massive, and both of them were _angry_.

Then the shorter one of them threw away the cigarette he had been smoking and said, “Yeah, the red one’s one of Abby’s friends,” and Harry muttered, “ _Fuck._ ”

There was a sort of stand-still for a second, during which nobody moved. Then Harry muttered, “ _Split up …_ ”, took all three boxes from Draco and yelled, “ _RUN!_ ”

And that was how Draco found himself running after Harry again, only that this time he wasn’t even warmed up and their pursuers were much closer from the start. Harry was already several feet ahead of him after only about six seconds, and there was a panicked expression on his face when he looked over his shoulder to check on him.

He must have slowed down, because a second later he was next to Draco. “Next left, then Disapparate – my bedroom. Okay?”

All Draco could do in response was huff – there were stitches in his side already – and then Harry body-checked him into an alley to the left. Draco staggered into a wall, completely unbalanced, and only just saw Harry zip by, body turned sideways and flinging a pizza at the bodybuilders. If their yelled complaints were any indication, he hit at least one of them.

Draco didn’t wait around to find out. Once again, he found himself at a dead end, and as soon as those guys were level with him, he’d lose his chance to Disapparate. He concentrated hard on his memory of Harry’s room (it had been so messy that it had practically burned itself into his retinas) and twisted.

This time, Harry wasn’t there to stop him from falling backwards onto the bed. Harry’s backpack immediately dug into his spine and all the air left Draco’s body at once. He turned onto his side and groaned. Then he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth and held his breath. He had no desire to explain to Abby how he had ended up in Harry’s bedroom. In the dark. _Alone_.

Merlin, why was he still alone? It shouldn’t have taken Harry more than five seconds to find another alley and follow, right? There were a lot of alleys where they had been. He was a fast runner.

Damn it, _Harry_ probably wouldn’t have Disapparated without _him_. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

There was no time to ponder the question or even to decide which one of them was the one with the problem, because then there was a _POP_ and Harry landed on his back, directly beside Draco.

“ _Oomph_ ,” he made, rolling off Draco’s backpack and onto his side immediately.

And there he was, both hands plastered against Draco’s chest, face pressed against his throat. Warm, hectic breath tickled Draco and he shivered. Then Harry breathed out heavily and Draco could feel him look up at him.

“Hi,” whispered Harry, and it sounded strange in the complete darkness of his room.

Draco was suddenly aware that they were lying in Harry’s unmade bed, the sheets clearly rumbled underneath them. And damn if Draco didn’t want him so badly that it hurt. He couldn’t help it – one hand found its place between Harry’s back and Draco’s backpack, and then he was leaning down.

Harry moved in immediately. One hand slipped off Draco’s chest, across his arm and into his hair, pulling him in, pulling him closer, and then his lips were on Draco’s, warm and eager, and their tongues brushed against each other, one of them moaned deeply – 

The faint clinking of keys, then the unmistakeable sound of the front door being opened.

“Harry? Are you home?”

They surged apart at once. Draco’s backpack hit the edge. Harry went tumbling out of bed, landing on the floor with a loud groan.

There were footsteps and then light from the hallway spilled into the room as Abby opened the door, illuminating Harry like a spotlight.

The light was behind her, so Draco couldn’t see her face, but she definitely crossed her arms. “What the hell are you doing down there?” Then she looked up, maybe following the path of light across the room, and came to face Draco. “Oh, you’re not alone.”

“I – ”

“Is that our pizza on the floor?”

And then things got indefinitely worse when somebody said, “Pizza?” and Liam appeared in the door.

Somebody switched the light on and both Draco and Harry groaned loudly, shielding their eyes.

“We’ll set the table,” said Abby in a tone that suggested just how done she was, and then she and Liam were gone.

Draco sat up and watched as Harry got to his feet, took off the backpack and then opened one of the remaining two pizza boxes to assess the damage.

“So,” said Draco, his eyes fixed firmly on the twisted mess of cheese and dough. “Since that was clearly another one of our infamous mistakes, we should probably never talk about that again?”

“That a suggestion or a decision?” Harry glanced at him, turned to see that they were truly alone, and then pointed his wand at the pepperoni pizza, shaping it back into something that resembled food.

Draco frowned at him. “What do you mean _, ‘a suggestion’_?”

Harry shrugged and checked on the second pizza. At least two of the four cheeses seemed to have fused to the box and he got started on separating them again.

“Means I don’t mind talking about it.”

Draco was silent for a few seconds. Surely, he must have misunderstood? The great Harry Potter wasn’t a cheater, right? Certainly not such a casual cheater at that?

“It’s a decision,” Draco said finally. “It certainly won’t happen again, so there’s no need to talk about it.”

But Harry just shook his head, a crooked grin on his face. “Sure, you tell yourself that.”

Draco got to his feet then, slipping Harry’s backpack off and picking up his own. The grin slipped off Harry’s face and then he frowned up at Draco, looking oddly forlorn kneeling next to an open box of slightly mangled pizza.

“Are you going?”

Draco nodded resolutely, checking to see his backpack was still firmly closed so that he could avoid looking at Harry’s stupid, kissable face. “I’ve got an early lecture tomorrow.”

“But –” said Harry, getting to his feet.

Draco didn’t give him a chance to continue, and he was out of the door before Harry could say anything else. He was already home when his mobile lit up with the first message. By the time he finally succumbed and read it an hour later, there were three more.

_‘Sorry I’m such an arse. I’d like to be friends! Sorry!!’_

_‘Also sorry about the running (again). Obliviated them, so it shouldn’t happen again!’_

_‘I’m REALLY sorry!’_

_‘Also I still owe you pizza.’_

Draco fought with himself. Really, he did. He didn’t _want_ to be the guy who caused the noble Harry Potter to cheat on his boyfriend.

He still couldn’t refrain from writing back. _‘Don’t forget about the ice cream.’_

To his mental do-not-date-because-of-reasons list, he added, _‘Boyfriend!!!’_

Then he added another three exclamation marks for emphasis.

~*~

The list was on fire, and Harry had set it aflame. Maybe Draco should have done some research before agreeing to this party.

The problem was this: Harry was half-naked, and Draco wasn’t prepared.

He wasn’t prepared to see the whole right side of Harry’s chest. He certainly wasn’t prepared to see so much of Harry’s _legs,_ starting a few inches above the knees. He could have gone a lifetime without knowing that there was a long scar on his right thigh. There was a second one on his left forearm, and unlike Draco, Harry hadn’t even bothered to hide it with a spell.

Harry looked like a Greek warrior, and Draco was _weak_. And also considerably drunk already, two hours into the party.

Draco’s toga was much longer than Harry’s. It covered practically everything but his arms, and still Draco suddenly felt self-conscious about his _ankles_. Also, he had neither a biceps nor a triceps. He didn’t care how much Marc insisted that Draco looked like some kind of ethereal being – Draco knew that was just a nice phrase to say that he was so pale that he was practically glowing.

Harry was glowing too, but it was very different. His tan chest stood out against the blinding white of his toga. The golden laurel wreath in his hair contrasted magnificently with his black curls. He wasn’t wearing glasses and his green eyes were just doing their usual thing, and that was maybe the most infuriating aspect of them all.

Harry spotted Draco just a second after Draco spotted him leaning with his back against the club’s bar, and he made a huge wave beckoning him over.

“I’ll get some more drinks,” said Draco. “Are you coming?”

Marc made a very odd noise and then said in a high voice, “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

“Slag alert,” said Tessa pointedly, nodding her head in Harry’s general direction.

Draco scanned the bar and found Adonis a few feet to Harry’s left. Also, he seemed to be in a conversation with Liam, who was standing awfully close. Harry must have known they were there, but he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Alright, I’ll find you in a bit.”

“Try not to get lured in,” said Tessa pointedly, and then she and Marc fled.

Merlin, Draco really wasn’t sure he would be able to follow her advice. Harry looked entirely too happy to see him.

“Happy Dionysia,” he said when Draco joined him. “ _So_ glad you came!”

Draco ignored the second part of the sentence and raised an eyebrow. “Is that the alcohol god thing?”

“That’s right. It’s great, isn’t it?” Harry grinned. “I really don’t know why costume parties aren’t more popular with our people. Think about the costumes we could make.”

Draco very deliberately did not try to picture Harry in even more realistic costumes. That was far too dangerous.

“We agree that you guys only do this party so you can wear scandalously short togas, right?”

Harry laughed and looked himself down. “Well, this is actually a _chiton_ , since it’s fastened at the shoulder instead of wrapped around the body, so…”

Draco groaned loudly. “Merlin, Tessa warned me there would be lectures.”

Harry perked up and took a quick look around. “Oh, is she here? Where is she?”

Draco turned around and scanned the crowd, until he spotted them leaning against a wall and obviously watching him. Draco really shouldn’t have been surprised.

He pointed at them and said, “That’s her over there. And the muscular guy next to her is Marc. You know, the one who fell victim to Adonis.”

Harry waved at them. Had the list still existed, Draco would have added _‘Overly sociable’_. Both Tessa and Marc glared back and then turned to each other and began a furious discussion.

The grin on Harry’s face died and his hand dropped out of the air. “Er … did you tell them something about me?”

Frowning, Draco shook his head. “Only that we’re kind of friends and that you had coffee with Adonis to sound him out.”

Oh, and that Harry had kissed him even though he had a boyfriend. Not that Draco would say that out loud, now that Harry looked so crestfallen. Draco would just talk to his friends as soon as possible and explain what had _actually_ happened. And he’d _definitely_ skip how they had kissed a second time two weeks ago.

“Hmm,” made Harry, sounding particularly down.

Draco couldn’t help it. Dealing with a gloomy Harry was far more unnerving than imagining him in costumes. Draco did ask after all. “So, what would your costume be if you could just …”

Draco mimed a flicking motion with his wrist.

Harry was back to grinning immediately. “I actually thought about going as Poseidon, because, honestly, who doesn’t like tridents? But in the end, that would have been too suspicious. I already kind of overdid it with the laurels.”

Draco took another good look at them and frowned. He couldn’t help it – he had to touch them. The wreath felt quite solid underneath his fingers, and Draco fought desperately not to acknowledge how soft Harry’s hair was.

“Is that real gold?” he asked instead.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and Draco wished that his brain wouldn’t supply him with the helpful information that the movement would almost certainly make his _chiton_ ride up a few inches.

“I might have gotten a little carried away. Transfigured a Galleon. It was actually really easy.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you defaced currency?”

“ _Speaking_ of defacing: You could’ve _told_ me I had half the textbook on my face last time.”

“I could have,” said Draco easily. “But that would have been less fun, wouldn’t it?”

Harry punched his shoulder, grinning, and then turned around to face the bar. And – _Merlin_ _have mercy!_ – He had a tattoo on his left shoulder blade: a fleur-de-lis that seemed to be bleeding pink, purple and blue water-colours.

Draco needed a distraction, so he took the chance to check up on Adonis and Harry’s boyfriend.

They were gone.

Harry handed him a drink and then frowned at the expression on his face. “What happened just now?”

“Well, not to alarm you, but I think Adonis kidnapped Liam?”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “First of all: His name’s Nick. Also, he seemed actually kind of nice? I’m seriously wondering if your friend Marc isn’t just bad with faces too? Maybe it was some other guy. But don’t worry, I still warned Liam. If Nick really is an arse, Liam can handle him.”

Harry and Liam were officially the most bizarre couple Draco had ever met. Jealousy seemed to be a foreign concept to them. Draco kind of got it, in Harry’s case. Because, honestly, if you looked like _that_ , there wasn’t really any reason to worry, right? But Liam reminded Draco weirdly of himself, so that was an entirely different story.

Draco didn’t have any time to think about it further, because that was when Abby squeezed through the crowd to join them. “Hey Draco,” she said cheerfully. “Care for some laurels?”

“Hell yes,” said Harry before Draco could even consider it. He took the laurels from Abby, stood up on his tiptoes and placed the green wreath on Draco’s head. Then he cocked his head, squinted at Draco and adjusted his hair so that some of it was tucked to the side.

Draco tried to recite his crumbled and smoking list – there was something about assault and bad table-manners on there, he was pretty sure of it – but it was no use. Harry was looking at him and Draco imagined what it would feel like to be pressed up against him when they were basically wearing sheets.

Abby cleared her throat and Harry flinched and took a step back. Draco emptied his drink and looked to see what his friends were doing. They were shaking their heads at him. Marc seemed to be mouthing, _‘Why?’_

Draco shrugged helplessly.

Abby had gone on, apparently on a mission to distribute as many laurels as she could, and Harry was still looking at him. Even dressed in those damned bedsheets, Draco was hot all over. Merlin, he had to go home, preferably before he did something incredibly dumb.

“Wanna play Kottabos?” said Harry suddenly, as if he had somehow read Draco’s thoughts and decided to distract him from them.

Draco blinked. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Kottabos,” said Harry. “Do you know how beer pong works?”

“Not really.”

“Doesn’t matter, they’re completely different anyway.” Harry waved a hand at him. “Kottabos is an ancient Greek party game. You’ve got some dishes floating in a bowl of water and fling wine at them to make them sink.”

Draco was pretty sure that his face did a funny thing, because Harry started grinning.

“Isn’t that incredibly messy?”

“Yeah,” he agreed happily. “Which is why we throw ping-pong balls and _drink_ the wine when we sink a dish.”

That sounded absolutely ridiculous and Draco _had_ to see it. He made an open-handed gesture and said, “After you, then.”

They never made it that far. They managed to cross the floor and go up a staircase and then stopped abruptly when they reached the landing, where Liam and Adonis were busy sucking each other’s faces off.

Something ugly reared its head in the back of Draco’s mind, furious about the blatant disregard for Harry’s feelings and completely ignoring what he himself had done, demanding justice to be served at once, demanding that a scene be made, and then completely choking up when Harry turned to look at him, looking not hurt but only slightly … amused?

And then – Draco’s brain did a somersault – Harry actually clapped Liam on the back in what could only be called an approving gesture, and beckoned Draco to follow him to the next floor.

Draco did the only logical thing. He grabbed Harry’s upper arm (Merlin, it was so damned warm and firm) and dragged him into a relatively empty corner. Harry didn’t protest to being manhandled like this. On the contrary – he went eagerly, turning towards Draco as soon as they had reached the wall, his stupid grin back on his face and eyes practically sparkling.

But then Draco let go of him, took a step back, and crossed his arms. He had to shout over the music, and it made what he said sound more aggressive than intended. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Don’t you mind at all?”

And now Harry wasn’t grinning anymore, but frowning. He leaned in until his lips were directly at Draco’s ear, and said, “I don’t really know what you mean. Nick’s alright and that thing with your friend happened some time ago, right?”

Draco shook his head, unable to grasp the way Harry’s brain worked. “So that makes it alright for your … your _boyfriend_ to kiss him?”

Harry took a step back then. “I’m sorry, what? Liam’s not my _boy_ friend.”

Someone bumped into Draco from behind, throwing him out of his temporary stupor and against Harry, who steadied him with both hands on his shoulders. Draco didn’t even turn around to glare at the culprit.

“Come again?”

Harry shook his head, grin already returning, and placed some of his weight on Draco’s shoulder as he got on his tiptoes to talk into his ear again. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Harry’s biceps was warm and strong in Draco’s hand, and he couldn’t even remember when he had taken hold of it again. “Then what’s Liam?”

Harry shrugged lightly. “We are friends. Sometimes we have some fun, but never anything _serious_.”

And alright, Draco really didn’t need the mental image of Harry just fooling around when he felt like it. His mind was already in overdrive as it was. “Oh. Okay, then. Forget everything I said.”

Harry laughed, hot breath ebbing against Draco’s throat, lips touching his ear slightly. “Is that really what you’re going with?”

Draco shrugged helplessly, his fingers flexing around Harry’s arm, and then shook his head. “No.”

And though Draco may have been new to this whole gay thing, he certainly was no idiot, so he tightened his grip around Harry’s upper arm and pulled him up and near, close enough so he could kiss him.

Harry, on the other hand, was neither new to this nor particularly shy about it, which was how Draco ended up with his back pressed against the wall and Harry’s tongue brushing over his bottom lip. It felt warm and eager, and tasted like cherry when Draco nudged it with his own.

It ended much too soon. Harry’s lips disappeared, too fast for Draco to follow and catch them again, and then Draco opened his eyes and shook his head in protest, earning just a cocky grin in response. Then Harry jerked his head and gestured over his shoulder, the question clear.

There was only one answer, and Draco gave it eagerly. Immediately Harry’s hand was around his, and they were weaving their way through the crowd.

A girl dressed in a long, flowing gown fastened with golden cords looked them up and down as they passed her, and then she punched Harry’s shoulder in a playful manner, giving him two thumps-up and an approving nod when he looked at her.

Harry laughed and shook his head at her, and then they were finally back on the staircase, where the music wasn’t as loud.

“Friend of yours?” asked Draco, barely noticing that Liam and Adonis were gone.

“God, please don’t ask me that,” said Harry with a groan. “That was either Sarah from Myths or Meghan from Drama. It’s really hard to tell with her hair open like that.”

Draco snorted. “So, who do you think I am?”

Harry turned to face him immediately, taking the last step back up so they were level. Draco’s back hit the wall again, and then both of Harry’s hands were on either side of his body, caging him in.

“Come on, Draco,” he said lightly. Unlike his body language, his voice was careful, not cocky at all. “There is nobody else like you.”

Something inside Draco’s stomach twisted and twitched, and he hated it. He was unsteady, completely out of his depth, unsure how to proceed, and he _hated_ it. He hated how much it excited and scared him at the same time.

That was why he said, “You _did_ mistake me for your Not-Boyfriend” instead of something wittier, something equally flirtatious.

It didn’t matter, because Harry didn’t let him fuck this up. He dropped one hand from next to Draco’s shoulder, placing it at his hip, warmth seeping through the thin fabric of Draco’s toga immediately.

“I didn’t expect you to be there. I’ll definitely expect you to be around in the future, though. How does that sound?”

Draco didn’t know what that meant. Was that code for saying that he wanted a relationship? Or was this just Harry’s way of asking him if Draco would be able to still look him in the eyes after going home with him?

It didn’t really matter, because Draco nodded either way. He just wanted to get on with it, no matter what he had to agree to for it to happen. It seemed to have been the right reaction, because when Draco leaned down, Harry angled his head up, and they were kissing again.

Merlin, Draco didn’t know how he ever had been unsure about his orientation. This was like leaning over a cauldron full of fresh Amortentia – his stomach was aflutter, his heart racing, his whole body hot and tingling.

“So,” muttered Harry against his lips. “About Kottabos …”

Draco frowned and placed a hand at Harry’s neck to keep him from breaking the kiss. “What …?”

Harry drew away regardless, and when Draco opened his eyes, Harry’s were too. “That thing we were going to watch?”

“You couldn’t possibly know how little I care about that right now.”

“Really?” said Harry, leaning back in so their lips were barely apart. “Would you care to come back to mine?”

 _Would Draco – ?_ Merlin, how could Harry just ask something like that? It wasn’t even a real question in Draco’s mind. He was definitely gay, more than a little drunk and pressed up against a half-naked Harry Potter, who was blissfully single.

“No.”

And just like that, Draco wasn’t pressed up against Harry any more, because the idiot had let go of him immediately and taken a step back as well. But Draco’s hand was still curved around his neck, and he seemed confused about that.

“Your flatmate doesn’t know how to knock,” said Draco in an attempt to lure him back in. “And I live alone.”

It worked a little too well, because then Harry’s whole body was on him, crowding him against the wall, and there were hands on both his hips now, and hot lips on his throat, and _Merlin_ , Draco couldn’t take this, standing sideways on one single step with both feet at once, and his knees all weak like that.

And Draco really planned on telling Harry that, but his brain wasn’t working properly anymore, and all he could manage was to throw his head back and give him more space, one hand still at Harry’s neck and the other searching his back for something to hold on to.

“Get a room,” somebody quipped, and then there was giggling as a group of girls passed them on the stairs.

Draco was pretty sure one of them said, “I wouldn’t mind watching that,” and he straightened immediately, more than a little bewildered.

Harry stopped pressing open-mouthed kisses to Draco’s throat, but he didn’t step back. He was looking up at him though, and grinning wickedly. “Not a fan of the audience?”

“Just wondering why I always seem to end up making out with you in weird places,” said Draco, trying for a casual tone.

Harry actually laughed. “ _This_ is a weird place?”

“We are wearing bedsheets. _Everybody_ is wearing sheets. I’d say that’s weird.”

“Well, let’s go then.” Harry leaned away, tugged at his hand. “Full disclosure, though: I really hope there’ll be more sheets where we’re going.”

It felt like Draco was being subjected to an obscenely strong warming charm – heat blooming inside his belly, racing across his body, setting fire to his neck, his ears, a certain area that was thankfully hidden by his flowing toga (and who cared if it even was one or not?).

Draco pushed himself off the wall at his back, followed where Harry’s hand led him, down the stairs, through the mass of people.

Draco _had_ known that Harry wasn’t a prude, that he had no problems picking up some guy at a party and taking him home. Draco _hadn’t_ been expecting to be one of those guys, certainly not today. That was what this was about, right? Draco had no experience, but he was pretty certain that this was what getting picked up was like.

They were nearing the exit now, and every now and then, people would look after them as they passed, and Draco knew that they knew. Doubt seized hold of Draco’s insides, and for a second, he was about to pull his hand out of Harry’s grip.

Sex wasn’t what he’d been planning on when he’d suggested going to his place. He’d only been thinking about making out in private, but now it felt like he’d offered himself up for _that_ instead. Barely over two months now since Harry had kissed him, since Draco had finally felt sure about his identity. Was this what he wanted? Was this _when_ he wanted it?

Draco forced himself to hold on tighter instead. If he let go now, it would be entirely because of his upbringing. Agreeing to take Harry home wasn’t the same as agreeing to everything else, and he could still decide about that when they were there.

Harry looked at him over his shoulder, all bright eyes and brilliant smile. His tattoo stood out vibrantly whenever the flickering lights caught it and Draco was seized by the sudden urge to trace the lines with his tongue.

Okay, so maybe he was a _little_ decided already.

They finally made it outside and the cold winter air slammed into Draco like a bitch. He could hear Harry gasp in shock and squeeze his hand a little tighter. They let go of each other at the same time, and Harry rubbed his arms immediately. Draco pointed to their left, eager to get away from the Muggles so he could take out his wand already.

“Why do you do this thing in January?” hissed Draco, leading the way.

“Because that’s one of Poseidon’s months.” Harry’s teeth were chattering already. “And that’s when they did the festival, historically.”

“You know that you don’t have to do everything completely accurately?” They were at a suitable side alley now, and Draco slipped into it, head cleared by the crisp air.

“Well, there’s another one in March or April, but that’s when exams are, so …” Harry trailed off, watching as Draco took out his wand and cast a warming charm at himself. “Can you do me?”

Draco lost his grip and only just managed to catch his wand again before it hit the ground. He straightened up quickly and smoothed down his toga. Harry looked startled and he took a second to pick up Draco’s laurels, which had fallen off when he had bent down.

“I didn’t bring my wand,” said Harry slowly, brushing some dirt from the leaves. Then he folded his arms again, still shivering. “Nowhere to put it, you see?”

Draco had never met a wizard or witch who willingly left their house without their wand, and he knew for certain that he would never be able to immerse himself in Muggle culture to such a degree. A wizard without his wand was vulnerable, defenceless. If Draco had wanted, he could’ve attacked Harry right then and there – it would have been easy, no problem at all. Harry was unarmed, barely dressed, considerably tipsy.

And then Harry shivered again and Draco cast a warming charm at him too.

“Thanks,” said Harry, and then he stepped up, got on his tiptoes and placed the wreath back on Draco’s head. “That really suits you,” he added with a smile, and Draco’s protest about dirty streets died before it was born.

Draco grabbed both of Harry’s shoulders, acutely aware that the tattoo had to be right there, covered by the fingers of his right hand. He leaned down, pressing his lips against Harry’s, who surged up to meet him, knocking him back half a step and tipping him against the bricks.

Draco’s back was flush with the wall now, while his feet were a step away from it, and Harry was leaning against him completely, pulled together by gravity.

“I’ll just …,” muttered Draco in between kisses, searching his toga’s magic pocket. “Just making sure …”

“Sure,” repeated Harry, though he couldn’t possibly know what Draco was doing. His tongue against Draco’s was a serious distraction.

Somehow, Draco managed to find his phone. He broke the kiss for a second so he could select Marc’s and Tessa’s contacts and then typed and sent the message ( _‘Gone home’_ ) blindly while Harry sucked on his bottom lip. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket as soon as it was done and went back to kissing Harry.

Then Draco plunged both hands into Harry’s hair, not caring about his wreath one bit, and Harry actually groaned into his mouth, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel like walking.”

“We’re drunk,” said Draco in his most breathy voice. “We really shouldn’t Apparate.”

“Right.” Harry untangled himself from Draco and shook his head a little. “Knew I was forgetting something.” He tipped his head back and took a few deep breaths. “Let’s definitely get a move on, though.”

Draco stared at him a for a second, unable to form a single thought that wasn’t just desire to pick up right where they had just left off, and then pushed off the wall before he could make a stupid decision, like Apparating after all.

The walk home was torture – all ten minutes of it. Draco didn’t take Harry’s hand again, but the occasional brush of their naked arms against each other was enough to unnerve him so much that his warming charm failed three times before he finally unlocked his flat.

Somehow, Draco had expected Harry to grab him immediately, to slam his back against the door before it had even fully closed. Honestly, Draco didn’t know why he even bothered to try and anticipate Harry’s behaviour anymore. He _never_ did what he expected him to do.

It was maddening. It was scary. It was exhilarating.

Harry _did_ grab him, but it was incredibly gently. Draco’s back _was_ against the door, but there was no push, no press of another body against his. Instead, Harry brushed a single thumb over Draco’s shoulder, placed the other hand at his neck, and smiled at him, making no move to kiss him.

Draco stared down at him, completely unsure of what was happening and how he should react.

“You have no idea how much I _want_ ,” Harry said silently. “How much I want to _know_ you.”

“You want …” Draco whispered, searching his face.

Harry nodded, traced the line of Draco’s pale arm with a finger, so much tanner than his. “Everything about you.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Harry shrugged lightly, brushed his hand through the short hair at the back of Draco’s head. “You fascinate me.”

Draco frowned, utterly confused, completely caught off-guard. Harry Potter, arguably the most interesting boy to ever live, fascinated by _him_? It didn’t make any sense.

After a few seconds, Draco said, “You can ask,” even though an anxious little voice kept screaming at him that it wasn’t a good idea at all, that Harry was bound to ask something along the lines of _‘Why did you join him?’_ and _‘Why didn’t you accept Dumbledore’s help when he offered it?’._

“What’s your favourite movie?” was what Harry really asked, and Draco felt like laughing, like crying, like kissing him and taking it all.

He didn’t even care when he said, “Amélie” and Harry’s eyebrows shot up for a second. Then he let go of Draco’s shoulder and placed the second hand at Draco’s face, tracing his jawline with a single fingertip and smiling softly.

“Why?”

Draco’s hands came up from where they had been clenching his toga, taking hold of Harry’s forearms. “I like how calm it is. No explosions, no unnecessary deaths. It’s happy.”

Harry brushed their lips, not quite a kiss. “Do you have a TV?”

“Sure.” Draco let his hands slip down Harry’s arms, along his sides, one naked and the other hidden behind a thin sheet. “Do you want to see it?”

“Only if it’s in your bedroom.”

Draco huffed and shook his head. Then he leaned down, reassured that they were very much still on, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. “I’ve got a CD-player in my room, though.”

Harry really grabbed him then, pressed him against the door with his body and kissed him, slipped his tongue inside Draco’s mouth and picked up where they had left off a few blocks ago.

“God,” Harry breathed out as Draco pushed him backwards without breaking the kiss, leading him through the bedroom door. “What’s your favourite song?”

Draco couldn’t help but giggle just a little bit. This was just such an absurd mix of jumping each other’s bones while speed-dating at the same time. “Want to hear it?”

Harry nodded so hard that his laurels flew off and landed who-knew-where. “Desperately.”

“Alright,” muttered Draco, kissing him one last time before letting go and starting his CD-player.

His favourite song was the first one up and Harry laughed as soon as it started. “Queen? Really?”

“It’s a classic,” said Draco. “And it’s about magic. What’s not to like?”

“Nothing.” Harry was next to him again, wrapping his arms around him and pressing their bodies together. His mouth was on Draco’s throat at once, licking and biting and turning Draco’s brain to mush. “I think it’s catchy. I like it.”

 _‘Lucky me,’_ was what Draco tried to say, but all that came out was just a deep sigh as Harry found some kind of magic spot near Draco’s left clavicle that he had never known about (though it wasn’t hard to guess why that was). Draco didn’t try to say anything else and just leaned his head back to give him more room.

Harry only stopped kissing him when the next song started, cocking his head like he was trying to hear it better. “Is _that_ ‘Back for Good’? That’s _not_ Queen. What kind of album is this?”

Draco opened his eyes in an attempt at clearing his head at least enough to be able to formulate a response. It wasn’t really helpful, since he was then able to see Harry again, and that was a distraction in and off itself. But he managed. Somehow.

“It’s called a mixtape. Well, it’s not a _tape_ , but apparently that’s not important.” No, Draco wasn’t condescending in the slightest. He just knew things, so why shouldn’t he say them?

“God,” groaned Harry, both hands clenching around Draco’s shoulders almost painfully. “You’re killing me.”

And then he turned Draco around and walked him back until the insides of his knees hit the bed and his legs buckled. Draco had barely sat down when Harry was on him. Literally. Harry placed his knees on either side of Draco and just sat down on top of him, upper bodies pressed together and hands roaming his back.

“Why are you still so very dressed?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘dressed’,” said Draco, because _honestly_ , he was wearing a fucking bedsheet.

One of Harry’s hands was caressing his bare back now, which was the only part he could really reach by sticking it through the arm hole of Draco’s toga.

“Definitely more than me,” he muttered, voice an octave darker than usual.

Draco chuckled. “We can’t all be exhibitionists.”

“Shush,” Harry mumbled, and then he went about shutting him up by placing all his weight against Draco’s chest and effectively forcing him onto his back. They were silent for a long while, save for the occasional hitched breath and sigh.

Draco was about to go insane from the way Harry’s warm hands worked their way up and down his arms, from the feel of his lean body pressing him into the mattress, from the taste of his tongue.

And then Harry went ahead and ruined it by freezing, by withdrawing his lips from Draco’s and whispering, “What’s wrong?”

“Why the hell would anything be wrong?” If Harry couldn’t hear him frowning, he was tone-deaf.

Harry traced a circle on Draco’s biceps. “You’re not touching me.”

Draco wiggled all ten fingers, which were planted at the small of Harry’s back, and Harry shook his head. “You’re just holding on.”

The eye-roll came all by itself. “Merlin help me. I didn’t know I was up for a performance review.”

Harry poked him in the side. The strength of it told Draco that he was irritated, which in turn irritated Draco. Who knew that Harry had such high standards when it came to his flings?

“That’s not what I meant.” Harry paused briefly and then resumed stroking Draco’s arm, only much softer now. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still into this.”

“Goodness.” Draco moved his hands up and down Harry’s back experimentally, but despite all hope, Harry didn’t just go back to kissing him. “Are you sure the Hat didn’t mean to sort you Hufflepuff?”

“Draco –”

“I am very much still into this,” Draco interrupted before Harry could go on a tangent and stray further from the making-out part of the night. “I’m just having a hard time concentrating on more than one thing at once. Your tongue is very distracting.”

Harry’s laugh was a startled little sound. A moment later, his lips were back at Draco’s throat, pressing a kiss against it and trailing the curve of it with his tongue, hot and wet. Draco breathed in heavily and dug his fingers into Harry’s back for support.

“So, if I were to do this,” Harry breathed out, hot air fanning against Draco’s wet skin, “– that would turn you on?”

Draco shivered violently, nodded, and then, just in case Harry’s brain was just as fogged up as Draco’s, whispered, “Seems like it.”

Harry chuckled. “Shouldn’t you know?”

Draco shrugged helplessly. “How would I know before someone actually does it?”

Harry pushed himself up so he could look Draco in the eyes. “Are you seriously saying that nobody has ever kissed you there?”

The first reaction to a question as stupid as that was roll his eyes and snort. The second was to ask, “Do I look like a Gryffindor?”

Harry frowned. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

It seemed that Draco would actually have to spell it out for him. “I’m a Pure-Blood, Harry.”

“I still don’t know what that means.” Harry dropped onto his left side, only half-hovering over him now. His free hand was now in Draco’s hair, playing with the laurel. “Is it illegal to kiss your neck?”

Draco sighed. “Potter, Pure-Bloods don’t _date_ like other people do. There isn’t exactly a wide choice of candidates anyway, so you just choose someone with a suitable background who you get along with well enough.”

Harry’s hand stopped moving and there was a moment of shocked silence. “When you say you don’t date … Bloody hell, Draco. There were so many filthy rumours about what you Slytherins got up to in your dungeon. Are you telling me those were all utter rubbish?”

Draco actually laughed. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that there had been all these rumours – the Gryffindors did have a pretty big hook-up culture, so it figured _they_ would come up with something like that – but anyone with half a brain should have seen right through them.

“If a Pure-Blood were to feel rebellious, he or she might kiss another Pure-Blood, but that is basically it.”

“Shame,” muttered Harry, and then his hand moved again.

Draco chuckled at the disappointed tone in his voice. “Well, if it cheers you up, I could remind you that there are actually non-Pure-Blood Slytherins.”

“Can’t say it does,” said Harry. Then his hand left Draco’s hair and he flopped onto his back, turning his head to look at him. “So, if nobody’s ever kissed you like that … does that mean you’ve never shagged either?”

“Obviously.” Draco said it lightly, trying to convey that it wasn’t that much of a deal as Harry seemed to think it was.

Fine, he hadn’t been sure about doing it with Harry this night, but that had only been because he hadn’t really thought about it before. Now that they were here, though … there wasn’t really anything to lose, was there? Also, it definitely was about time.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I wouldn’t have jumped you like that if I had known.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to roll onto his side so he could bury his hand in Harry’s hair and test his hand at kissing his throat. He did that for a few seconds, gratified by the way Harry’s breath hitched, before muttering, “It’s not really important. Besides, I really liked the speed we were going at, and I would like to resume it.”

Harry shook his head and actually pushed Draco away by the shoulder. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

Draco sighed and assumed the sternest look he could muster, half-naked and lying beside an even more naked Harry.

“ _Potter_. I’m attending _Muggle_ college. I have Muggle _friends_. I’m acting on my _very_ untraditional urges. It was sort of implied that I’m doing my absolute best to break from tradition.”

Harry didn’t seem completely convinced. “Right, yeah. But still, your first time. Isn’t it kinda important?”

Draco didn’t even have to think before he shook his head in response, sporting a dirty grin to boot. “My life isn’t a bloody Veela romance novel. I fail to see how the first time should be more important than any other time after that.”

“I don’t know. People always say it is, don’t they?”

“Well, I’m telling you it’s not. At least not for me.” When Harry didn’t immediately respond, Draco poked his shoulder. “Harry, don’t make me beg for this. If you do, I will be _very_ cross with you and you won’t like it.”

“Draco –”

“Merlin help me,” muttered Draco, and then he rolled on top of Harry in one swift motion and went right back to kissing him.

Harry seemed somewhat reluctant at first, only kissing back half-heartedly, but then the song changed from ‘Daydream Believer’ to ‘Hey Jude’ and Draco sat up on top of him and dragged the toga over his head before he could change his mind, and Harry’s hands reached for him automatically, roaming over his chest, his stomach, the two long scars slashed right across.

He didn’t apologise, and Draco was glad. All of that was in the past, where it belonged, and Draco’s future was looking bright and _very_ appealing right now.

“You look like a fucking elf,” Harry rushed out, grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a proper kiss. He seemed to notice Draco tensing and he couldn’t possibly miss Draco biting his lower lip in indignation, so he quickly elaborated, “Not like a house-elf. Like Legolas, from Lord of the Rings.”

Draco busied himself with trying to unknot Harry’s chiton at the shoulder, which was seriously complicated by the fuzziness of his brain, courtesy of Harry’s mouth back at his throat.

“Is that better?”

“Much,” muttered Harry in between kisses. “They’re tall and ethereal and shit. Glow in the moonlight and stuff like that.”

Draco’s fingers were trembling, his brain had definitely vacated the premises, he was hot and bothered and he wanted to feel Harry _now_. He sat back up abruptly, dragged Harry with him by both arms and then just yanked the chiton over his head.

“Yeah,” muttered Harry, immediately latching on to his neck again. That man really was obsessed. “Alright.”

Then he slung both arms around Draco’s upper body and turned them around, slamming him into the mattress and himself on top of Draco, pressing his strong, naked torso against Draco’s, which felt like it was on fire.

“I’ve got you.” Harry’s voice was low, his hands were _everywhere_ , his lips were magic.

Draco relaxed into the sheets, followed where Harry led him, went nearly mad when Harry sank down on top of him, and then decided he would never be able to quit him.

“So,” said Harry slowly, when they were wrapped up in each other afterwards, “Are we on for Halloween? You’ll go as Legolas, I’ll be … I don’t know, Aragorn, I guess. Though, if I’m Aragorn, maybe you should be Arwen instead.”

“I think I had a great-great-great grand uncle of that name,” muttered Draco, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “Amongst others, of course. He had at least five names. Cepheus Something Ophiuchus Something Arvin Black. Very sophisticated.”

“Really like the repeated _‘Something’_ in between. Very aristocratic. Astoundingly avant-garde,” said Harry. “So, it’s decided then?”

He sounded like he was grinning broadly, which really should have worried Draco, but he just couldn’t be bothered. Harry was making plans for an event nine months in the future, and Draco felt like grinning too.

“Yes,” he muttered, already half-asleep. Then: “That’s not what avant-garde means.”

“Are you sure?”

Draco nodded. “Well, at least you’re pretty.”

Harry didn’t reply, but Draco could feel him chuckle silently. There were worse things than being involved with someone in dire need of a dictionary.

~*~

Draco’s morning began much more unpleasantly, namely with someone attempting to knock down his door, and not in a stealthy manner (not that Draco had ever heard about someone trying it that way).

If he had expected the Saviour to leap out of bed and defend him, Draco would have been sorely disappointed. Harry merely groaned next to him as Draco sat up, and then snatched Draco’s pillow away so he could bury his head underneath.

“I’m not here,” was all he said, and Draco could barely understand it through the bedding obscuring him from view.

“We are at my place.”

Draco went in search of his clothes, realising way too late that he hadn’t really worn any the day before. There was no way he would put that toga back on, so he grabbed his pyjama bottoms from the top of his dresser instead.

Harry’s muffled answer came several seconds later. “Oh, thank goodness.”

The knocking was getting so loud that the dog from upstairs began to join in to the ruckus, so Draco forewent underwear and just pulled them on like that. The bottoms were roomy enough to hide pretty much anything.

It sounded like Harry had gone over to snoring, so Draco closed the bedroom behind himself and hurried to the door. He usually didn’t let others rush him (getting dragged into a chase didn’t count), but he also didn’t want Harry to leave already, so he was keen on ending the noise as soon as possible.

Behind the noise were Tessa and Marc. Well, Tessa was making the noise, and Marc was hiding behind Tessa, so that counted.

“Finally,” huffed Tessa, pushing him out of her way so they could stomp their way into the kitchen. “You just ditched us yesterday, what was that about?”

“I didn’t _‘ditch’_ you.” Draco rolled his eyes and leaned against the fridge while his friends sat down at the kitchen island. “I texted you.”

“I didn’t have my phone with me.” Marc looked him up and down. “And quite frankly, I’d like to know where _you_ put yours yesterday.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s not my fault you didn’t have your phone. Who even leaves their phone?”

“Well, _I_ had my phone.” Tara fished it out of her purse with a dramatic pause. “Wanna know what you sent?” She didn’t give him time to answer and cleared her throat instead. “Ah, there we have it. _‘Gnme inmf’_. That’s it.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to clear his throat. “It was a bit dark.”

“We were worried,” said Marc with an accompanying look. “It could’ve been a cry for help.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, searching for a way to spin this in his favour. “You thought I needed help and waited the whole night to find me?”

“We tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Tessa slapped her open hand against the surface. “Then we came here and knocked, but you didn’t answer, even though the light was on. Super rude, by the way.”

“Alright, fine.” Draco put up both hands in surrender, wondering how he could have missed someone knocking at his door in the middle of the night. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice. _But_ , in my defence: I had a very hot reason!”

“Did you just say _‘hot_ reason’?”

“Good,” said Draco immediately, like it wasn’t already too late for that. “ _Good_ reason.”

Marc and Tessa exchanged a _look_ , which probably meant that they knew exactly what he was taking about.

Then Marc folded his arms atop the counter and hid his face in the circle of them, groaning loudly. “Oh, Lord. Please tell me you didn’t.”

Draco shook his head automatically (because honestly, he hadn’t done anything that would warrant such a reaction) and put the kettle on for something to do.

“Draco,” said Tessa heavily. “You didn’t take _him_ home, did you?”

Draco rolled his eyes as he rummaged through his cupboard for his two best mugs. For Harry and himself, obviously. He didn’t want the other two around longer than absolutely necessary.

“I don’t even know who ‘ _he’_ is supposed to be.” Just because he had been talking to Harry last time he had seen them, didn’t mean they knew about what had happened after.

“You know exactly who we’re talking about.” Even with his back turned, Draco could hear Tessa point a finger at him. “We warned you about him.”

“You don’t need to warn me about _anyone_.” Draco dropped teabags into the mugs and turned around to raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m a grown man, I can look out for myself.”

Marc resurfaced then, looking solemn. “We just think that you should be careful. You’re new at this. Maybe a one-night stand isn’t what you should start with. Look what happened when I tried to do that.”

“Alright.” Draco held up both hands in a placating gesture. “But who says that it was a one-night stand? Maybe I genuinely like him and he likes me too?”

Tessa laughed, though it didn’t sound amused. “Did he tell you that? You’re an idiot if you believed that. That’s what they tell you to get into your pants.”

Draco rolled his eyes at her and refrained from telling her that, if anything, _he_ had gotten into _Harry’s_ pants. “I think I know him better than you. And he’s definitely not a liar.”

“Draco, come on.” Marc vacated his barstool and crossed the kitchen so he could take hold of Draco. His hands were gentle and warm on Draco’s bare shoulders. “We don’t want to see you get hurt. You’re our friend.”

“And also, from one friend to another,” added Tessa. “It would be _really_ fucked up if you took him home for _more_ than a one-night stand. Like, that would be a serious violation of the gay code.”

Draco glared at her over Marc’s shoulder. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but for your information: He’s completely single. So it’s fine.”

Marc’s fingers twitched at the same time as Tessa opened her mouth in outrage. Draco never got to know what part of his answer had been so offensive, because right then there was a movement at the kitchen door and then Harry came in, dressed in only a pair of Draco’s Slytherin-green pants and looking all around good enough to eat.

“God, remind me to take out my contacts before bed next time,” he muttered, head bowed and rubbing at his eyes with both palms. “I think they’re fused – oh.”

Harry stopped in the middle of the kitchen, squinting his eyes first at Tessa and then Marc, who was squeezing Draco’s shoulders pretty hard all of a sudden. Then Harry dragged a hand through his curls, which did nothing to improve his bed hair, and grinned at both of them in turn.

“You must be Draco’s friends, right? Theresa and Max?”

“Tessa and Marc.” Draco shook his head at him. He vaguely registered that Marc let go of his shoulders. “Honestly, Potter, how do you even function?”

Harry shrugged, completely unconcerned. “I get by.”

Tessa scoffed, and it sounded bitter. “ _Around_ , more like.”

And wow, that was a bit harsh, just after Draco had told her that Harry didn’t have a boyfriend after all, wasn’t it?

Harry seemed confused too, because he cocked his head and frowned at her. “I’m sorry, was that meant to _shame_ me?”

Tessa got to her feet, so she could face him directly. “Oh, please. We all know you have no shame.”

And then Draco got a front row seat to a whole lot of muscly biceps action as Harry crossed his arms in front of his naked chest. Not that he could really enjoy it, with the way his friend was acting all of a sudden.

“Tessa,” he said, and it wasn’t very hard to make his voice sound stern. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but that’s quite enough.”

“ _Me?_ ” Tessa threw her hands up. “I’d like to know what’s gotten into _you_. Besides _him_ , obviously. How could you do this to Marc?”

Startled, Draco’s eyes flicked from her to Marc’s face, who was worrying his lower lip and took a step back. This whole thing made exactly zero sense. There had never been anything remotely romantic between Marc and Draco.

“It doesn’t matter,” muttered Marc, and his slumped shoulders stood in stark contrast to his broad build. “I just didn’t expect this.”

Harry dropped his arms, deflating immediately. “Should I … maybe I should leave?”

Tessa laughed her bitter laugh again, only now there was a definite mocking undertone. “Right. Fuck first, then fuck off. That’s your whole thing, right?”

Behind Draco, the water kettle was rattling and spitting hot water, and he just wrenched the plug from the socket, not really trusting the power button at a moment like that, when there were two reasonably upset wizards in close proximity.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Harry’s teeth were clenched tightly, and even though Draco was fairly certain that Harry would never draw his wand on Muggles, he was kind of relieved that he didn’t have it there with him. “I wasn’t planning on fucking off until you came along.”

“Yeah, sure. So, was it just a misunderstanding when you did it to Marc?”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat, did a faceplant and then struggled to get back on its metaphorical feet. “Excuse me?”

“I – _what?_ ” Harry’s voice went unnaturally high at the end, and his eyes were huge when they found Draco’s.

And then the scales fell from Draco’s eyes. Adonis frequented the library, and he was easy to pick out. And Draco had noticed Harry immediately, but not for the reason he had thought had been implied. _Merlin_.

Draco grabbed Marc’s shoulders, panic in his voice. “ _He’s_ your Adonis? The guy who broke your heart?”

Marc simply nodded, avoiding his eyes, but Tessa flared right back to life. “Damn right he is! Sweet-talked his way into Marc’s pants and then just left him with a shabby excuse immediately after.”

Marc finally turned his back on Draco to face Harry, who actually took a step back, stammering, “ _No_. No way, I would never.”

“Let me guess: That wasn’t you at all, but your twin? A look-alike, perhaps?” Tessa looked him up and down, eyes lingering on his scars – the lightning bolt on his forehead, the oval one at his chest, the long straight ones at his forearm and thigh. 

“I _never_ just leave. I always make it clear in the beginning if it’s just about sex. I wouldn’t –” Harry locked eyes with Marc and took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, but maybe you just forgot that I told you?”

Draco couldn’t see Marc’s face, but he did hear the sharp intake of breath and he definitely saw the way he squared his shoulders and balled his fists.

Before he could get a word in, Tessa rushed forward and pushed Harry against the wall, hissing, “What, like _you_ conveniently forgot that you even shagged him?”

Harry just took it, bracing his arms against the wall when he hit it and then holding them up immediately afterwards. “I honestly don’t remember.”

“Oh no,” muttered Draco, and then all eyes were on him. “Fuck. Marc, _please_ tell me you didn’t have an undercut when this happened.”

Harry dropped his arms immediately, mouth slightly open, eyebrows drawn together, eyes wide, looking like he had just watched someone kick his Kneazle.

Then Marc shrugged tensely and said, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I swear to God, Draco, if you tell him that he was asking for it because of his hairstyle, I’ll have to cut you.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry slumped against the wall and then banged his head against it in defeat. “God, I’m the worst.”

“Let’s go,” Marc muttered in Tessa’s direction.

Draco immediately grabbed his shoulders again and then steered him right back to the kitchen island, practically forcing him onto the barstool. “Stay. I think Harry has something to apologise for.”

Marc seemed anxious, definitely keener on getting out of there than on hearing what Harry had to say, but Tessa huffed out a harsh breath and then came to stand behind Marc, placing both her hands on his shoulders in support.

And it really was no wonder that Marc was ruined, if Harry had been his Adonis, his first. Draco would be too, if Harry had just stammered an apology after a night light _that_ , and then left. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to think you had him and then find out he never really wanted you after all. That would’ve been worse than never getting him in the first place.

Draco doubted that Harry knew how badly he had fucked up, or he wouldn’t have managed to take the steps necessary to round the kitchen island so he could come to stand in front of Marc.

Draco thought about joining him on his side, but he wasn’t sure if his friends would literally take it as him choosing sides, so in the end he just proceeded to pour water into the prepared mugs and place them in front of Marc and Tessa with a carton of milk. Then he took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, on nobody’s side at all.

“Right,” said Harry when Marc had jostled his teabag for the fourth time in the span of half a minute. “So, I should probably begin by saying I’m a knobhead.”

Draco snorted quite involuntarily and Tessa gave him a dark look. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just so accurate.”

“Right,” said Harry again, rubbing at his scar (which was probably a smart move, because it surely made the others wonder if he’d had some kind of head injury that may have caused some of his issues). “So, I’m really bad at memorising faces. And at remembering names too, but that’s less important. Because faces are what I’m _really_ , really bad with.”

“It’s true,” said Draco helpfully. “He mistook me for his friend like two months ago. You remember that kiss I told you about? The one that was really just a misunderstanding?”

“Yes, we remember your _first ever_ gay kiss,” said Tessa pointedly.

Harry’s head whipped around so fast that Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if he had given himself whiplash.

Draco shook his head, arms folded firmly in front of his chest. “You were kind of in the middle of something, remember?”

“Right,” said Harry for the third time. “So, I should probably just say it. When this thing happened, I had a crush on this guy Jason from my Ancient History course. And then at this party, everybody was in costume, and I was drunk …”

Tessa groaned and hid half her face behind a hand. “Oh God, I have a feeling I know where this is going.”

“Yeah …” Harry grimaced, eyes never leaving Marc’s face. “So, I kinda thought you were him the whole time … And then I realised it when you told me your name in the middle of everything.”

Nobody pointed out that Harry had obviously forgotten Marc’s name between then and now. Draco assumed he had never remembered it to begin with, had probably let it slip right through his mind in favour of freaking out over Marc’s name obviously not being ‘Jason’.

Harry went right on. “I honestly don’t even remember what I said to you, but it obviously was utter rubbish, and I am _so_ sorry, I just panicked completely. I was basically running on autopilot. I’d never slept with a stranger until then and I didn’t know what to do.”

Marc just nodded, a numb expression on his face. He didn’t tell Harry that they’d actually met at the library before that Halloween party, and Draco had a feeling that he shouldn’t either.

“You said something about having to go … and you _thanked_ me, I think?”

Harry folded his hands and pressed them against his lips, head bowed slightly. “Sorry about that. And I _swear_ I didn’t recognise you afterwards, and you’ve obviously changed your hair since then, which means you could’ve just as well have had plastic surgery, because I mostly recognise people by hair, clothing and context clues.”

“Yeah,” muttered Marc. “I get it.”

“I’m _so_ sorry. I never meant to hurt you, and well … I kinda thought a one-night stand was all you wanted anyway, so I probably wasn’t that sensitive.”

It was clear what Harry meant: as far as he knew, he had been a stranger to Marc too, so it had probably been easy to come to that conclusion. It also was probably smart that Harry didn’t say it outright, because Tessa looked ready to murder him if he tried to place just an ounce of blame on Marc.

“Well, this was embarrassing.” Marc slid from his bar stool with a sigh. “I kinda need brunch now. Tessa?”

“Coming.” She started following Marc and then stopped just at the kitchen door, looking back at Harry with narrowed eyes. “You’re on thin fucking ice, _Adonis_. I’m watching you.”

She then did the corresponding hand gesture and turned with a flourish that would have looked magnificent if she had been wearing a robe. The front door snapped shut a few seconds later, leaving them in total silence.

Harry breathed out heavily and began working out his hunched shoulders. “Does she remind you of Parkinson?”

“Very much so.”

~*~

Several people gave Draco the side-eye when he bypassed the queue with his notebook under one arm. As expected, nobody said anything though, and Draco had nearly reached the front when a burly guy in a NASA t-shirt stuck out his arm and slammed it into Draco’s chest to hold him back.

“Dude, the line starts back there.”

“It’s alright,” whispered the girl right behind him. She pointed over to where Harry was sitting with his back turned, alone at his table as per usual. “He’s going to _that_ table.”

The American gave him a once-over, shaking his head. “Why on _earth_ would you do that? Are you actually insane?”

Draco massaged his chest lightly. “I’m about to do something nice for all of you, so I’d appreciate it if you’d apologise for assaulting me.”

The guy merely crossed his arms, which displayed his bulk quite impressively. “Or what?”

Draco shrugged. “Or you will probably feel pretty rude in about a minute.”

The guy frowned, which Draco interpreted to mean that he could see nothing wrong with being rude to strangers. Draco shrugged again and left him standing there, approaching Harry, who had no less than five books spread out in front of him and was writing in two notebooks alternatively.

Draco slung his arms around his neck from behind and Harry relaxed against him immediately. The only indication of Draco having surprised him was the quick look he directed at his wrist watch. He had obviously lost track of time somewhere in between the Odyssey.

Draco retreated and then flicked the necklace he had just slipped around Harry’s neck unnoticed.

“What’s that?” said Harry cautiously, looking down at the engraved golden ring and then tipping his head back so he could see Draco.

People seemed to have given up on actually shushing him, but they still were giving them dark looks.

Draco pressed a kiss to his scar and smiled. “Part of your costume, of course. Tessa and Abby just picked them up.”

Harry frowned. “Aragorn doesn’t carry the Ring.”

Draco shrugged. “And, unlike Legolas, _Arwen_ is a woman.”

Harry dropped his head, laughing lightly. “Oh, so you found out about that?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t read the book before dressing up as one of the characters?”

“You read the book? You know there’s a movie, right?” Harry snorted. “ _Nerd_.”

Draco simply raised an eyebrow and indicated Harry’s crowded table with a sweeping gesture.

Harry opened his mouth in indignation, gasping once and then huffing out, “Nobody’s ever called _me_ a nerd before.”

“That just means it’s high time they started.”

Harry laughed, and now people at the surrounding tables were seriously getting restless.

“Come on,” Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulder once and then let go. “We are doing a dress rehearsal at Marc and Nick’s place.”

“Draco, people don’t do _dress rehearsals_ for a Halloween party.” Harry began packing up his stuff despite his words, arranging his books into two piles.

“Keep?” Draco asked, pointing at both of them. When Harry nodded, he picked up the smaller pile (no point denying it – Harry was just stronger than him and also, it was _very_ chivalrous of Draco to carry any one of them at all) and led the way out of the study space.

“Thanks,” mouthed the girl at the front of the queue. The NASA guy gave a sheepish shrug, but the girls in front of and behind him grinned and raised their thumbs at Draco, before six people at once rushed off towards Harry’s vacated table.

Harry turned around so he could look after them. Oblivious as ever, he asked, “Friends of yours?”

Draco simply smiled, unwilling to disillusion him just yet, just in case he was ever in need of Harry’s table-clearing services during exam period. “Something like that.”

“You’re such a Muggle enthusiast.” Harry slung his arm around Draco’s shoulder and reeled him in, pressing a wet kiss against his cheek. “I love it.”

Draco loved it too. Draco loved all of it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or your favourite emoji. 🤗 Thanks!  
> You can also come check out my other works, [All Tied Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215105) and [Where The Falcons Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129308/chapters/55345891).


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